Patchwork
by Hekko
Summary: Voldemort was defeated, but those who fought against him and survived have to go on with memories of those who were killed. Will they manage to build new lives from the ashes of the old ones? After war, includes spoilers for HBP. AU since DH.
1. Picking Up Threads

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Picking Up Threads**

* * *

The surface of the lake seemed to be silver in the moonlight and the small statue at the bank was throwing a long shadow on the path. The tall figure standing before it was hardly visible, but Minerva knew he would be there.

"Severus," she said instead of a greeting. He acknowledged her presence with a sharp nod.

There were two small candles before the statue and Minerva moved to light them, but Severus stopped her.

"It's better this way," he explained quietly. "The candles are too small. They only make him look grotesque." Minerva thought it strange that Severus, of all people, would mind that. But then, he was a Slytherin. He was probably lying, covering his genuine motives.

"What is it you want?" he asked in the same moment Minerva drew breath to start the small talk. She considered her options and decided to use the straightest approach possible.

"I want you to come back to Hogwarts."

"I am at Hogwarts." Maybe it wasn't as straight as she thought it to be.

"To teach, Severus," she added firmly. He didn't move and it was too dark to see his face, Minerva, however, knew he had turned rigid.

"I am hardly the best option," he answered finally.

"Yes, you are. There's no-one with such erudition, deep knowledge..."

"There's Slughorn." The statement reinstalled silence between them for a minute or so. Then Minerva composed herself.

"I don't want him to teach at Hogwarts. Ever again," she said in a disapproving tone of voice. "He's a weak, miserable, pathetic human being. A coward. I don't want him among my students."

"And I am a Death Eather and a murderer. I fail to see how exactly am I a better teacher than him."

"You are no longer a Death Eater and you have never been a murderer," Minerva replied with more force than she wanted to, betraying her emotions. "You are a better man, that makes you a better teacher."

A long silence followed, filled with anticipation and contemplating. In the end, Severus knelt before the statue and placed a thin long candle beside the two that had been there already. He lit them with a match rather than a wand.

"I killed him," he stated, as if that explained everything.

"You couldn't have done more than you did." Severus shook his head.

"There's always something..." He sighed heavily. "It's getting cold. We should go back inside."

They left the small statue behind them, shadows dancing across the carved face of the boy who had once lived.

* * *

The building was vast, grey and unwelcoming. Draco checked the address again and found, to his dismay, that the solicitor's office was on the toppest floor.

There was no chance there would be a lift in there. Such buildings, all old and dirty, never had a lift, just steep, narrow stairs and long dark corridors. It was just like the Ministry, Draco thought bitterly, to choose the cheapest solicitor possible. He carefully opened the door. He would have spelled it open rather than touching the filthy knob, but this particular cheap solicitor had an office in the middle of a Muggle settlement, so Draco couldn't afford to draw his wand before entering said office.

The corridor was indeed a dark one. It led towards - oh, a miracle! - a lift. Draco pushed the button - he knew which one because there was only one button - and nothing happened. Out of order, then. Draco turned to the stairs, wishing in vain he could at least cast _Lumos._ But there was a Muggle woman between the second and the third floor collecting dry laundry from a balcony. She watched him suspiciously when she thought he wasn't looking and faked a smile when he greeted her. He was glad to leave her behind.

As he was approaching the last, seventh floor, he noticed there was more light. At first he just thought the windows up there were cleaner, being high above the traffic, but taking the last turn of the stairs he discovered there was a hole in the roof covered only with a large piece of plastic.

"Thank Merlin it's not raining," he mumbled automatically.

"You were saying?" an old man with a beard asked him. Draco was startled and eyed the man up and down. He seemed to be harmless enough.

"These stairs are likely to kill me," he said loudly. He looked around and saw three wooden door without numbers or any other indication. "Would you mind telling me where I could find Mr. Tinkerbell?" he asked the old bearded man. The man jumped from one leg to another before answering:

"That depends. What do you want from him?"

"We have a business appointment."

"Oh. Are you a young Malfoy? Let me see..." The man stepped closer to Draco, in fact he nearly stepped on his toe, and examined his face minutely. "Yes, yes," he murmured contendly. "This must be you. Come, I am Tinkerbell - do come in, sonny, do come in." Tinkerbell turned on his heel and kicked open the furthest door. "Come in, come in!" he shouted from the inside. Draco followed hesitantly. To his surprise, Tinkerbell's office - and his flat as well, it seemed - was clean and cosy, if a bit untidy, with orange and yellow walls and a grey carpet, not thick and new, but not worn and paper thin either.

"Sit down here, sonny, I'll put a kettle on. Would you like some biscuits? Here, help yourself. Go away, Lucky Tom." Lucky Tom, a fat black cat, hissed at Draco, but left the armchair he had been sleeping in obediently, following Tinkerbell out of the room.

Draco cast a few cleaning spells on the armchair before sitting down in it, just to be sure. He looked at the biscuits, decided not to have any and entertained himself by examining pictures on the walls. There were many of them, mostly landscapes, of different sizes and styles. None of them moved. Scanning the room quickly, Draco found out there were no magical objects he would recognise. That troubled him a bit, Tinkerbell was supposed to be a wizarding solicitor. But maybe he was so poor he had to work for Muggles, too, to make his living - it would make sense not to have anything magical lying around then.

"There we go." Tinkerbell returned with a tray, placed in on the table and put an old piece of china before Draco. "I hope you like herbal teas, I'm afraid I don't have any other," he said apologetically and poured a steaming yellow liquid into the cup.

"Now, Mr. Tinkerbell," said Draco.

"Please, call me just Tinky."

"Oh... OK, Tinky. Shall we start? I know it's a delicate business, but the sooner it's over, the better."

"I understand. We should wait for your aunt, though."

"My aunt?" Draco creased his eyebrows. "What does she have to do with it? She's not a Malfoy - besides, she can hardly come here from Azkaban."

"Not only your mother had a sister," said an unfamiliar voice from the door. Draco's head turned around so quickly his neck started hurting again. There was a woman at the door, with short fair hair, a narrow face and eyes he used to know as his father's. Her eyes, Draco noted, were different from his father's after all. They were softer and somehow... more alive.

"My father was an only child," Draco protested. "I've seen the family book."

"That's how old pureblood families do it - they erase whoever they don't like."

"Oh. Are you a bloodtraitor, then?" The word lost its demeaning sound after a war and acquired a new one, more like "hero".

"Yes," she said and smiled beautifully. "And a Squib."

* * *

The curtain made an irritating screetching noise again and Hermione grabbed her wand to fix it finally. She knew visitors weren't allowed to perform magic in this part of the hospital, but after three hours of listening to this terrible sound she couldn't stand it any longer. Just a quick oiling charm, what harm could it cause?

"...mione?" a timid voice said as she was balancing on a chair, aiming her wand at the metal curtain rod. She spun around so quickly she nearly fell down.

"Ron?" He was pale and looked exhausted, but finally his eyes were open and focused. "Ron!" Hermione hugged him and Ron hissed in pain.

"Sorry... sorry. Do you need anything? Do you want some water? Oh Merlin, you're back... you're going to be fine!"

"Wha' 'appened?"

"He's gone - Voldemort is dead," Hermione replied, suddenly less thrilled.

"Oh. Good." Ron closed his eyes again.

"Ron?" He tried to answer, but the words slurred into an unintelligible sound.

"You're going to be fine," Hermione assured him. "You just need a bit of rest and then you'll be fine. Fine," she whispered.

* * *

**A/N:** The name "Tinkerbell" comes from my favourite TV Show "CI5: The Professionals", episode "Blind Run". Many thanks to Brian Clemens! (end of an ad :))  
I'll try really hard to update regularly (or at least often). Please review!


	2. The Family You Have

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
The Family You Have**

* * *

Draco was sitting there in a dazed astonishment. His father's sister - a Malfoy - was a _Squib?_ Unbelievable. But, yet... he glanced at the woman who had entered the room, shaken hands with Tinkerbell and was currently petting Lucky Tom. She was tall and bore herself with an elegance that belied her mundane Muggle clothes. The shape of her face reminded him of his Grandmother and those eyes... yes, she was definitely a Malfoy, and if she called herself a Squib, a Squib she was.

"Tinky, let's get the business off the table," Draco's new-found aunt said. "There's nothing I'm interested in except for two things. One's the miniature that used to be in the long hall beside that window leading to the winter garden. Do you know which one?" Draco hesitated. "Draco?"

"The one... of my grandmother?" he forced himself to ask.

"Yes. Do you remember her at all?" she asked, not covering her surprise.

"Course I do," Draco mumbled.

"You were just eight when she died and I imagine Lucius wasn't thrilled when she talked to you." Draco nodded, recalling the day Father had caught him in a vivid discussion with Granny. He had been furious - and quite brutal.

"What's the other thing?" he asked quietly, silently praying that it wouldn't be anything he liked.

"There's a little wooden box somewhere in the old library. It belonged to my grandmother. I couldn't take it away when I was leaving - it's magically locked and Lucius wouldn't have let me have it."

"Okay," Draco whispered.

"Don't you want anything valuable from the manor?" Tinkerbell asked, startling Draco who had forgotten his presence completely.

"What for?" she shrugged. "Everything valuable is probably cursed, or magical at the least. What would I do with it?"

"You could sell it," Draco suggested. "In fact, _I_ will probably sell it."

"You'll sell the manor?!" Draco looked up to meet her shocked gaze.

"I don't want it," he said. "I don't want anything from it - anything!" Draco's voice echoed in the silence that followed until Tinkerbell cleared his throat.

"So, it's a miniature of old Lady Malfoy and a wooden box for Miss here and the manor to the young Lord Malfoy, to be sold or whatever?" Both Malfoys nodded. "What about the vault?"

Draco shrugged and looked at his aunt expectantly.

"I don't need money. You keep it - you'll need to finish Hogwarts first and get somewhere to live in." Draco wanted to say he didn't want to keep it, either, but he didn't want to sound childish.

"It's settled then," Tinkerbell said happilly. "Anyone for tea and biscuits?"

"I'm sorry, Tinky, I gotta run. Could only take half a day off. Draco?"

"Hm?"

"Will you get the wooden box for me?"

"I'm not sure where to find it," Draco said apologetically.

"Guess I'll have to go back there with you, then," she mused. "Lucius must be rolling in his grave - if he has any." She chuckled. "Sorry." She stood up and smoothed her clothes.

"I'll come with you," Draco offered quickly. He checked his trousers for cat hairs and found one too many to just brush them off. He'd have to use that nice charm Hermione taught him. If he could remember it.

Tinkerbell produced a parchment with the agreement and they both signed it. Having one copy sent to the Ministry, they took their leave and quickly descended the stairs.

"You're very quiet."

"I've always been," Draco replied automatically.

"No, you haven't. You were a very talkative child, at least when I was still living at the manor. I suppose Lucius and Narcissa didn't appreciate that, thought."

"When did you leave?" Draco asked, trying hard not to think about his mother.

"When Father died. You must have been four - no, nearly five then." They started walking together back to the main street. "Father was very unsure about me," she continued to fill the silence. "He thought having a Squib in the family was a disgrace and a shame. But Mum wouldn't let him throw me out and he loved her. Or respected her. Well, something, surely. But when he died and Lucius became Lord Malfoy, I had to go."

"Had he no respect for his mother?"

"None at all. He thought she was a fool. But she was a powerfull witch, too, and he couldn't ignore it. She came from Albania and by what she told me, things were different there. Not so many prejudices and no pureblood policy. Some Muggles there knew about Wizarding people and everyone lived in peace and harmony." She laughed bitterly. "She got married very young. Picture her homeland in bright colours, she did."

They stopped at a corner joining the main street. Muggles were walking in both directions there and no-one seemed to notice two Malfoys, a wizard and a Squid, trying to say good-bye in an unawkwardish way.

"I work at the bookshop down there," she said finally, jerking her head in a general direction in which the shop must have been. "Usually I finish at half past four, so you can just drop in when you're ready to take me to the manor."

"Or I can owl you a day before that."

"In the evening. But I'd rather not receive any more owl post right now. My neighbours have been getting too curious lately. So..."

"It's nice to have a relative who's not a bloody fanatic," Draco blurted suddenly. "I mean..."

"I think I know what you mean." The blue Malfoy eyes smiled at him warmly. "So it's goodbye for now," she said. "I gotta..."

"... run, I know," Draco finished. "It's just it's..."

"... such a big surprise and so little time?" She smiled fully now. "We're not parting forever. We can..."

"... go for a dinner or something?" Draco asked hopefully.

"Sure! So bye," she leaned to him and pecked him on the cheek before joining the quickly moving crowd of Muggles.

"Hey! Wait!" Draco cried out. The fair head stopped and turned to him. "What's your name?" A few passing girls burst into fits of giggles at hearing that. He ignored them.

"Tisha!" his aunt shouted back at him.

"Tisha," Draco whispered, somewhat soothed by the sound of her name.

* * *

The kitchen of the Burrow had always been a warm, welcoming place. It had felt safe to be there even during the worst times of the war and Draco liked to return there - especially since Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had let him know they had thought of him as of another son.

Draco remembered very little from the night when Snape had brought him there, except for the terrible, unbearable pain of Cruciatus and then smell of tea Mrs. Weasley had made him. He didn't know how Snape had persuaded the Order to pardon him and hide him in their middle, and though he longed for that particular bit of information, he had never asked. At first, he had been afraid the Order might throw him out, and the right opportunity had simply never come. But he was grateful - really grateful - something he had never thought he would be able to do.

"Draco," Mrs. Weasley greeted him warmly. She had been unbelievably kind to him since that night. He guessed it was so because of his mother's death. She had been equally kind to Harry, playing a loving mum to both of them, fussing about them, sharing the little the Weasleys had had without hesitation.

He had never thought he would feel grateful for that, either.

"Mrs. Weasley," he answered and kissed her cheek. "You look very happy," he noted and stole a carrot from under her knife.

"Guess what happenned!" Draco studied her face for a while, reading the emotions displayed there. She looked happy, relaxed, and her knives were practically dancing in the air as if... but then, small things could make Molly Weasley happy.

"Tell me," Draco decided to play it safe, not wanting to hurt her by guessing something too good. Like Charlie Weasley coming home four months after his mysterious disappearance. Or Mr. Weasley's hand getting better despite the Healers' predictions. Or Fleur getting pregnant or...

"Ron has woken up! Hermione even talked to him - he will be alright!"

"That's great!" Draco exclaimed and embraced her. Deep inside, he felt a bit ambiguous without any real reason, just the fact that Ron of all people had never seemed to accept Draco.

Draco couldn't blame him.

"They say he'll get better on his own now," Mrs. Weasley chattered happilly away as she turned back to the vegetables. "I'll go to see him tomorrow afternoon."

Draco smiled and asked, "Where's Hermione, then. Back at the Mungo's?"

"Oh, no. The Ministry wanted to talk to her."

"What, again?!"

"Again."


	3. A Helping Hand

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
A Helping Hand**

* * *

"Do we have to go through all of this again?" Hermione asked in the most assertive voice she could muster. That wasn't much, for she was exhausted, if happy.

"I'm afraid so, Miss Granger," the official answered levelly. Hermione remembered her from Hogwarts - a Hufflepuff, who used to spend hours at the library, same year. Only this girl - a young witch - had graduated from Hogwarts nearly two months ago, about the time when Hermione, Harry and Ron had been dealing with Nagini. The last Horcrux. And an alive being.

"Go on then," Hermione sighed tiredly.

"So... when Harry killed Nagini, you all..."

"He didn't kill her," Hermione intervened impatiently. "She died of shock." Nagini had given them as much consent as a snake ever could, but Harry hadn't killed her. He had just - just! - destroyed the Horcrux within her. And he had cried when she had died anyway.

"She died," the other girl stated flatly, "because of something Harry did."

"He didn't _want_ to kill her. But the removal of the ancient magic proved to be too much of a strain for her." It had been a strain for Harry, too. In order to destroy the Horcrux without killing Nagini, he had forgiven Voldemort, guessing rightly he had used his James Potter's murder to create that particular Horcrux. During the few minutes that had followed, with emotions still raw, he had witnessed Nagini's death. They had nearly postponed the rest of the operation, but reason had won - they had to use the surprise.

"And the nature of said ancient magic was?"

"Dark," Hermione supplied unhelpfully. They had decided on keeping the truth about Horcruxes secret and she had no reason - nor will - to change the decision.

The Ministry official sighed but moved on.

"So, Nagini died and you entered the inner circle of You-Know-Who's wards."

"Correct."

"How?"

"Severus Snape had made a potion for us that allowed us entrance."

"What kind of a potion was it?"

"You'll have to ask him - there was no time to discuss details then." Hermione watched with satisfaction how the poor girl's expression changed. Oh, she didn't want to question her former professor. She didn't want to even talk to him.

"Well, it doesn't matter. What did you do then?"

"We stole inside Voldemort's..." Hermione noted the flinch, "main hall. He was standing in the middle, surrounded by some Death Eathers. A battle followed. I don't remember details. But in the end, Ron and Harry were both injured. Ron was already out cold, I think, and Voldemort was leaning over Harry when I finished the last Death Eater." Hermione didn't recall whether she had killed him. Or her. She couldn't recall that either.

"And?" the official prompted her. As if they didn't know already - hadn't asked before - it was all there, in a file on the table, written down and signed.

"Voldemort used Legilimency on Harry. For a minute or so, they were just staring at each other. I think Harry was trying to fight him off, unsuccessfully. He had never been good at Occlumency." Hermione paused to compose herself. Memories of Harry were still very painful. "Then he probably gave up, or just lost, and Voldemort... he sort of flinched." It was hard to describe it: Voldemort, the Dark Lord, had been staring into Harry Potter's eyes, unable to break the contact, but trying to escape from... what? Maybe the love, fear and pain in Harry's heart.

"Flinched."

"Yes. As if he got caught in something painful. He didn't seem to be able to get out of Harry's mind. Then he died."

"Just like that?" This seemed to be the crucial part. The Ministry couldn't believe Voldemort had died because of seeing Harry Potter's mind and for some reason undetactable by anyone else they wanted to prove some dark magic had been performed.

"Just like that." There was nothing more to tell about it. Hermione - personally - thought it had been shock that had killed the darkest wizard of their time. The difference between the two of them had been simply too much. It had been probably the same thing that had killed Harry.

"What did you do then?" This question came for the first time.

"I checked Voldemort was really dead - we had prepared a special charm for the occassion - and went to help Ron." _Oh, really?_ said a small voice in the back of her head.

"What about Harry?" Hermione gulped.

"Harry was dead. I checked." _Liar,_ said the small voice, _he wasn't dead yet - you just wanted to save Ron._

And if?

_If you had helped Harry, he could have survived._

And Ron could have died. And Ron will be okay - he's already better now.

_Maybe you could have saved both of them._

"Miss Granger?" Hermione snapped back to attention. "May I have your signature?"

"Of course." Hermione stilled her shaking hands and signed the parchment. The official watched her, suddenly sympathetic. Had she paled that much at the memory?

"Can I offer you something before you go? Coffee? You don't look well."

"No, thanks, I... no." Hermione got up and gathered her belongings hurriedly. "Is that all?"

"Yes, yes, of course it is. Are you sure you don't want anything?"

"Very sure." She escaped the tiny office, the nosy official, the whole bureaucratic building and decided to take a short walk across a nearby park. She couldn't very well Apparate in the state she was in.

_You could have saved both of them,_ the small voice in the back of her head insisted. _You were just being selfish._

"I didn't do it for myself," Hermione whispered, swallowing tears.

* * *

Hogwarts was still empty and quiet, its corridors abandoned even by ghosts. Paintings, used to long summer dozes, were woken up by loud thumps, as Neville Longbottom jumped over a loose step on the stairs, slipped and had to run the rest of the stairs to prevent himself from falling. Grateful that no-one could laugh at him, Neville smoothed his robes and took the first turn to the right, only to return five minutes later from a dead corridor.

Neville spent ten more minutes checking every other corridor until finally he stood before the entry to Snape's personal rooms. He noticed the Potions classroom two doors down the corridor and his eyes flashed. He knew better than to break through Severus' wards, though, and he calmed himself down before knocking.

"Come in!" Severus called from the other side and the lock clicked loudly.

"Bloody hell, Severus," he complained as soon as the door clicked locked behind him again, "couldn't you just tell me you live a dozen steps from your old classroom? It would have saved me half an hour at the very least."

"How nice to see you and how are you, dear friend?" Severus said acidly from the fireplace. But during the long months of their friendship, if it could be called that, Neville had learnt all about acid, acerbity and even venom in Severus' voice.

"Your directions were about as helpful as your attitude during my school days," he said lightly, his anger quickly diminishing. He poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey. "You were probably the worst teacher ever." He saluted him with his glass and sipped the golden liquid.

"And I still am," Severus replied. Neville nodded, sipped some more Firewhiskey only to spit it out a second later, as Severus' words got processed by his brain.

"You what?"

"Minerva asked me to return to my former position as a Hogwarts professor."

"Oh. That's nice of her."

"_Potions_ professor. She managed to persuade Moody to become a teacher again." A trace of bitterness stopped Neville from sniggering at the methods the Hogwarts' Headmistress had most likely used. Moody had fallen for her at the battlefield of Glasgow, where the last of Death Eaters had been defeated, witnessing her fighting abilities, strength and will at the same time. He had started his campaign for Minerva's heart immediately after the war and had led it successfully so far.

"Well, there's a great shortage..."

"She said she didn't want Slughorn to come back to Hogwarts. Said I was a better man than him," Severus continued angrily.

"You are," Neville said simply, calming the upcoming fit of rage with his steadiness.

"Get me some whiskey," Severus growled, tapping his left leg impatiently while Neville was filling their glasses.

"The knee giving you hell?" Neville asked. Severus ignored the question, as it was too stupid to be answered anyway. Neville sat down on the rug before the fireplace.

"Can't you sit in an armchair?" So the anger hadn't dissipated completely yet and Severus decided to aim it at Neville.

Neville just shrugged it off, letting the dance of flames lull him. Somehow, this unlikely friendship worked, although it was based only on a minute in the years the two had known each other.

Somehow, when Snape had brought an unconscious Draco into the Burrow, begging for help, something had broken in Neville. He couldn't be afraid of a broken man, just a man after all. Harry and Hermione, as he had found out later, had been taken aback by the fear Snape had been emanating. Neville had felt strangely attracted by it. He had been scared by that man for six years - only to find out he had been human after all, able to feel, to care, to panic...

And when Snape had collapsed, when he had lost all of his composure, falling on knees, not caring about his dignity, pride, image, Neville had stepped forth and knelt beside him and _hugged_ him. Any other day, such an action would have brought him only pain and probably a meeting - or meetings - with a Healer - or, likely, more well educated Healers. Any other day - but that minute, only that minute, Snape had been willing to accept a helping pair of arms.

* * *

The glass hit the wooden desk more forcifully than the last time. Minerva didn't care. She poured a little more of brandy and then, after hesitating for a while, she doubled the portion before locking the bottle into her liquor cabinet.

"It's getting complicated," she complained loudly to no-one particular. "The students will arrive in eight days and I still don't have the Transfiguration Master." Most of the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses pretended to be fast asleep, only one opened an eye which twinkled merrily in the darkness.

"I'm sure you can cover the curriculum for some time, Minerva," the eye's owner said.

"For how long?" Minerva asked and sipped her brandy. She looked at the glass. She drank too much brandy these days.

"As long as will be necessary," he said firmly.

"Flattery is very nice, Albus, but it's not going to teach." Minerva finished her glass before pushing it away and standing up. She began pacing her office - from the desk to the window, from the window to the door, from the door back to the desk and once again to the window.

"You always managed - somehow - to find the teachers in time."

"Not always, Minerva, remember that Umbridge woman?"

"Well, that was once - but..." She sighed and stopped before him, tracing the lower part of the frame with her left hand.

"It all seemed so _easy_ when you were here," she muttered.

"Every work seems easier while it's being done by someone else," Dumbledore reminded her. She looked up and met his eyes. He sat down on the floor on his painting, his robes falling around him like a tent, and held a palm against the real world. She raised her hand, but didn't touch the picture.

"This is so very much like you," she whispered.

"It is spelled to be so," he agreed and wriggled his fingers. Minerva let her hand fall against the painted one.

"I..." she trailed and cleared her throat. "We just miss you." She turned away abruptly and returned to her desk. There were papers to be dealt with - by the Headmistress, of course - and they couldn't be postponed any more. "We all miss you, but of course, you are right - we'll manage," she continued as she started reading through them. "We'll have to manage."

The next time she looked up, Dumbledore was sleeping in his painted chair, his eyes shut and his face peacefull.


	4. Hopes and Memories

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Hopes and Memories**

* * *

Tisha had been staring in the mirror for five minutes straight and Draco was growing impatient. He had picked her up at the bookshop she was working at, walked her to her tiny flat for a change of clothes, complimented on her decoration and Apparated them both to Malfoy Manor. He had expected it to be a short, quick visit to the house. Now it seemed they were going to spend some time here.

"I've never noticed how similar we were," Tisha muttered finally. "Oh, sorry - I'm keeping you, aren't I?" She smiled at Draco and he felt himself forgiving her instantly. His grandmother's smile, an exotical treat, unseen for so many years.

"S'alright," he said generously. "So, where's the wooden box?"

"That would be tricky," Tisha admitted. "I haven't been here for so many years - it could be anywhere in the old library - or just anywhere. Let's collect Mother's miniature first." That was easy, because Draco had spent hours watching the small picture where it had been hanging, studying the soft smile and sometimes receiving a wink and a wave of a hand.

"There," he pointed and Tisha went to the wall and collected the miniature, smiling at the woman.

"Hi, Mum," she said softly. "It's a shame she never speaks. I really don't understand why."

"The spell went wrongly," Draco explained, throat tight. Tisha shot him a curious glance.

"That must have been it. Now, the harder part. You'll probably have to allow me into the library - I used to have a pass, but Lucius most likely got rid of it." She scratched her head. "And I'm only assuming it would still be there."

"Wasn't there a magical lock on it?" Draco asked, leading the way across the manor. The old library lay directly across the main entrance, but was only accessible from the upper back door.

"There is, but it only prevents it from being carried out of the manor, not moved around it."

"Couldn't Father unlock it?"

"I doubt it. Besides, he probably didn't even know about it. It hasn't changed that much here... oh."

They had entered a long hall before the rooms of the Lady Malfoy - the hall where... - Draco closed his eyes and evened his breathing. _Don't think of that._

"You-Know... Voldemort," Draco forced himself to say, "used the hall for some of the meetings," he explained. Tisha looked around the smokened walls, took in the scorched carpet, traces of curses on the old furniture, dark stains that could only be blood, even the poisonous green marks on the ceiling.

"Let's go on," she said.

They walked in silence. Draco kept his eyes down. Everything here reminded him of someone who died - his parents, Granny, even some of the Order members.

Mainly those who had been tortured to death on the rich Malfoy carpets.

"Draco," Tisha placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her. She was standing before the door to the old library. "You'll have to let me in."

* * *

Hermione moved the curtain back and forth few times, happy to see - or rather hear - it moving silently.

"There," she said contently and put the chair back to its place. Mrs. Weasley shook her head.

"Good to see you breaking rules again," Ron commented happilly and whatever Molly Weasley wanted to say remained unspoken. Hermione sat down at the edge of Ron's bed and took his hand. Ron looked up at her; for him, there couldn't be a more beautiful view.

"I'll leave you two to yourselves," Mrs. Weasley said before she slipped out of their small happy universe. As she was descending the stairs, she remembered the summer before their second year, the first time she had seen them together, and even then it had been obvious - as well as Ginny's heavy crush on...

She tripped and had to grab a handrail to prevent herself from falling. For a moment she stood there, breathing heavily, waiting for her heart beat to slow down. Memories of Harry hurt - only time could heal that - and it wasn't good to call them when walking down stairs.

"Such a steep flight of stairs in a hospital," she muttered to calm herself down before she restarted her descent more carefully. Memories were painful, but now that Ron was well, there was a future, a beautiful future to look forward to. She concentrated on that and left the building with a soft smile and a dozen grandchildren playing in the garden of her imagination.

* * *

"You're very quiet." Ginny shrugged her shoulders but turned a little to allow Blaise kiss her on a cheek. "You didn't use to be," Blaise added but gained no response. With a sight, he retreated to the kitchen to make tea. Sometimes he wished he hadn't changed sides.

But Draco had been very persuasive and there had been Ginny... Without the influence of his Slytherin peers, completely free to choose and for once honest with himself, he had had to admit he would touch her - if she only allowed him to - and gladly. And Draco had claimed she had broken up with the Boy Wonder, an opportunity a good Slytherin couldn't have just let pass.

After Potter's death, Blaise had lost his certainty about the break-up. Sure, they hadn't been dating and Ginny had been going out and even making out with him, but she had grown pensive, sad and passive.

A Ginny Weasley at her most fiery had always attracted him, being both terrific and terrifying. This depressed creature at the window made him feel scared and inadequate.

"Would you have some tea?" She accepted a mug filled with hot liquid and drank slowly.

"I met Neville yesterday," Blaise pretended there really was a conversation going on. "Snape will return to Hogwarts."

"Hm."

"He will teach Potions again - I wonder what McGonagall used to bribe him with to agree with that." This time no response came at all. Blaise got up and started tidying the room, trying to work out the tension he felt.

Ginny carried both their mugs to the kitchen and rinsed them. Then she returned to her observatory point at the window.

"I got that place at the shop in Hogsmeade," Blaise continued desperately. "Just in time before the school year starts. Hey, do you have all your books and such? We could go to Diagon Alley together to get it."

"I was there a week ago with Mum," Ginny finally answered. She looked at him. "You're worse than a house-elf."

"What? Just because I keep it here a bit in order?"

"It wasn't bad before." Blaise dropped a cushion he had been carrying around for the past five minutes, trying to fit it anywhere, and sat down next to Ginny.

"It's going to be a nice year," he said gently and stroke her hair.

"But you'll be probably working all the Hogsmeade weekends."

"We'll work something out," Blaise promised. He thought of the invisible cloak he knew Ginny had gotten from Potter. He thought of the secret passages he knew she had learned about from her brothers and Potter. He thought of all the mischief she had been willing to commit... with Potter.

And he remained silent.

* * *

The old library of the manor hadn't changed in years. The walls were hidden behind tall wooden bookshelves, in the middle, there were desks and chairs and the whole room was illuminated by light coming from a spelled false windows in the ceiling. There was only one picture hanging on the wall oposite to the door, and it was a picture of a library. There had been two figures sitting behind a pictured table and they both stood up when Draco and Tisha entered.

"Laeticia." The cool, hissing voice of his father - his _dead_ father - made Draco shiver. Tisha stood to her full height, tilting her chin up with a hard look in her eyes.

"Lucius," she replied calmly.

"How dare you come to my house?!"

"Don't worry, I won't stay..."

"It's not your house anymore," Draco interrupted her. "You're dead." That took Lucius aback. For a while, he just stood there, pretending his son wasn't in the room. Then he turned abruptly and left. Narcissa made to follow him, but changed her mind.

"Laeticia," she said quietly, pleadingly. Tisha approached the picture and looked into the woman's face. Narcissa was fidgety, nervous... worried.

"You will look after him, won't you?" Tisha stood mute. "Won't you - he's your nephew - please..." Narcissa trailed off, falling back on the stuffed chair.

"Mother - I..." Draco had to swallow. Although he had talked to many dead people's paintings, it felt different to talk to his own mother. "I can take care of myself," he managed finally through a clenched throat.

Narcissa looked at him, tears in eyes, and then turned back to her sister-in-law. The distrust hurt Draco and he turned away. He could hear Tisha whispering something behind his back but couldn't make out the words.

Tisha put a hand on his shoulder. When he looked at her, she was grave and her eyes were intense.

"Let's find the box. It used to be in one of the drawers in that small desk." They located the box easily. It was small and its surface was covered in deep, dark scratches.

"It's rather old," Tisha said unnecessarilly and proceeded to search her pockets. "I had the unlocking charm somewhere... ah, here it is." She put a piece of parchment next to the box. Draco needed just one look.

"But that's very easy. I can't believe Father never tried it."

"He might have, but you have to use a key along with the charm," Tisha said contentedly. She placed something on the top of the box.

Her mother's miniature.

"Granny had it made to go with the box," Tisha explained. "There, now you can do the trick." She chuckled.

Draco performed the charm and was surprised to see a glow of light wash over both the box and the picture. A keyhole appeared on the front of the box. Tisha fished a small key from her pocket, put it in and turned it. The box opened easily as if it hadn't been locked for more than days. There were a few old letters, small pieces of jewellery and a black-and-white photo inside. Tisha passed Draco the photo.

It showed a young man with short blond hair and a friendly face leaning against a brick wall. He was remarkably handsome in a manly way, but not extraordinary - a common man, maybe a little better than average. It took Draco a minute to realise the picture wasn't moving.

Also, the paper was yellowish and the quality low.

"He looks familiar," Draco commented. "Who's that? Another Squib relative?"

"Not exactly," Tisha replied and Draco noticed she was really similar to him.

"So?" Tisha just grinned.

"I'll tell you about him someday. But you had plans for the rest of the afternoon, didn't you?" She collected the photo, letters and jewellery and locked them back in the box. She hid the box in one of her many pockets along with the miniature.

They returned the way they had come in and once again Draco had to watch his shoes closely to evade the thoughs of _don't think of that don't think of THAT!_ his mother in the middle of Death Eathers.

She should have left, of course. _Mother, I can't do that - I can't!_ He had even asked her to.

But she hadn't and then...

"Draco."

"She didn't have to stay here," he blurted out. "She knew he'd kill her." He stopped and looked at Tisha.

She was watching him curiously.

"I knew I'd fail again. I knew it - I wouldn't - I..." Draco's throat constricted.

"So you told Narcissa?" Draco nodded.

"I told her she had to leave, but she wouldn't. She stayed right there and when I..." Once again, Draco ended up lost for words. He leaned his forehead against the cool, hard wall. "She said I would get more time if she stayed until the evening," he continued quietly. "She wanted me to get away safely."

"She wanted to protect you," Tisha said.

"I didn't need her protection!" Draco shouted violantly, spinning round to face her. "I wanted to protect _her!_" Most of all, he wanted to hit something - someone - but he could also feel tears threatening to flow from his eyes any second and he started blinking furiously to keep them hidden.

Tisha was silent for a long time, seemingly waiting for him to continue. Finally she stepped closer to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"I didn't like Narcissa much," she admitted quietly. "She was snotty and stupid about many things. But." She drew a breath heavily. "But she loved you. You were her only child and she wanted to protect you as any mother wants to protect her children. Do you understand?" Draco shook his head, losing his battle with tears.

"She was tortu... tortured right here," he stuttered between sobs. "B-bellatrix did that. And she was laughing." He paused and composed himself somewhat. "And I had to watch - I mean, it didn't help at all, they still got me. She died for nothing."

Tisha didn't say anything, just drew Draco further into the embrace, and he hid his face in her shirt and let the tears flow.

"When she asked me to look after you," she whispered after a while, "I didn't realise you might need it."

* * *

**A/N:** So, another one. Please, review! It maketh (;)) my spirit rise and I write faster ;) Besides, I can't believe more than thirty people read through it all without having anything to say!


	5. The Fall A Coming

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
The Fall A-Coming**

* * *

"... so we just got her stuff from the manor today," Draco finished and made an unsuccessful attempt to catch a gnome. The escaped gnome started laughing at him, never noticing Hermione, who crept behind him, caught him and after twisting him above her head, threw him out of the garden.

"Are you seeing her again?" she asked Draco, eyes already fixed on another gnome.

"Sure. I'm glad I have at least one decent relative." Draco managed to grab one gnome around its waist. He had to turn around few times to get the momentum and the gnome still fell just few steps behind the garden wall. Still, he was getting better at this. He looked at Hermione to find her glaring at him.

"One decent relative?" she asked angrily. "And what about Tonks and her mum?"

"Tonks?" Draco was confused. "Who's..."

"The girl with coloured hair. You've seen her," Hermione reminded him.

"Lupin's girlfriend? What does she do with my relatives?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"What don't I know? No, I probably don't, isn't that obvious?"

"Oh, well, okay. Guess your family would hardly tell you about them." Hermione calmed down, the focus of her ire set on people already dead.

"So?" Draco prompted her.

"Tonks' mum is your mum's sister," Hermione explained. "She married a Muggleborn."

"Well, that explains why she never popped in." Draco looked around the garden. It seemed gnome-less. "Think we're done here?"

"Yeah." They headed back to the house. "Will you come to see Ron with me?" Again, Draco felt unsure - would Ron want to see him? He certainly didn't long for Ron's presence, but then, the proximity of death was said to make people more amiable. Maybe it was time to clear the air between them.

"It would be my pleasure," he said formally. Hermione smiled at him brilliantly. She most likely didn't see through it.

"I wanted to take him some books," she continued happilly.

"He'll certainly be thrilled," Draco remarked mischievously. Hermione swatted him in mock anger.

"I was thinking about some Quidditch-themed stuff. Ginny said she had a thing or two somewhere in the attic. Come." Draco followed Hermione up the narrow, crooked stairs. Good thing Ginny didn't keep the books in her room. Draco had developed a tiny crush on her over the last few months, but since she was seeing Blaise, he couldn't very well act on this feelings and being in her room would be just creepy.

Oh well, so it was more than just a tiny crush, and it had been terrible about a month before that, but it would go away on its own eventually.

Hermione led him to an old trunk in one of the most dusty corners Draco had ever seen. She opened the trunk and revealed books, pieces of garment, small toys and a lot of other junk inside.

"There we go!" she said enthusiastically and started rummaging through it. Draco fished a book out of the pile and read the title - _Dragon Fairy Tales_ - he put the book aside.

The early afternoon sun shone through the small attic window and coloured Hermione's hair red. Draco imagined this might be how Ron's and Hermione's children would look like - with a big, flaming bush blossoming on their heads. Kind of cute. And he had nearly stopped that from happening - he wondered if Snape had told Hermione or anyone in the Order what _exactly_ Draco's last mission had been about.

He had been standing in the shadows for nearly twenty minutes, watching Hermione through the window, before he had realised he hadn't been able to kill her.

Not even to save his mother's life.

He couldn't have asked Snape to kill her in his stead. That wouldn't have done the trick again. Besides, he hadn't wanted her to die. Out of the blue, he had felt so sick with it all he had nearly thrown his wand away, disgusted with himself for ever planning on this. But then, that wouldn't have saved Hermione - there were other Death Eaters hidden around the house.

And then he had seen Hermione turning off the lights and he had _felt_ her disapparating. He had tried to cover her departure with a beam of green light, hitting one of the armchairs in the then empty room, but the beam turned out yellow.

He hadn't even had enough concentration to fake the Killing curse.

"Draco?" Hermione touched his arm. "Penny for them?" But he shook his head.

* * *

Once again, Minerva McGonagall picked up the list of former Hogwarts students. This one was compiled of those who had passed the NEWT Muggle Studies with at least an average score.

"Now, this is ridiculous," she muttered to herself. "How on the Earth will I get anyone to take the position a day before the school year starts? No, Emma Eastwick has already refused. And Mr. Talkebutt has no real teaching abilities. Fiona Fiddlewick..."

"... has married this month and is currently enjoying her honeymoon," one of the portraits supplied. Minerva sighed.

"I wish I could..." Her eyes shone lightly upon seeing another name on the list. She cocked her head, considering the option, and summonned a detailed report on the ex-student.

"And why not?" she asked herself. With a wave of her wand she banished the rest of the parchments and set to composing a letter.

* * *

Hermione had been chatting light-heartedly all the way from the Apparition point in the entrance hall of St. Mungo's to Ron's room, the sight of which finally silenced her.

Ron wasn't in his bed.

His things were still on the bedside-table, though, so Draco gallantly went to ask someone from the staff about it. He learned Ron had gone for a walk to the top floor and should be back any time.

"What now?" Hermione asked, thrown off balance temporarily. During the war, anyone could have disappeared from anywhere, never to be seen again. The fear of sudden loss hadn't left yet.

"There's only one staircase here. Let's go up to meet him," Draco suggested, anxious for no reason. He took Hermione's elbow and led her out of the ward.

They only climbed one flight of stairs when a happy voice sounded from the top, "Hey there!" Ron was standing two floors above them, waving at them - or at Hermione, Draco thought.

"Hello, Ron," Hermione answered. Their eyes locked for a second and they both beamed.

Draco felt shadowy.

"Wait there, I'll be right with you!" Ron shouted. Several passer-bys turned but no-one commented as Ron resumed his slow descent. His limbs were, after all, still a bit weak and awkward, in spite of the progress he was making. Halfway through the first flight of stairs he looked up to smile at Hermione and tripped.

As if in a slow-motion, he tried to grab on the railing, but his fingers slipped and he fell down, turning over once, twice... The sound rushed back into Draco's ears as he knelt beside the still bundle that had fallen at their feet with the head turned too much to one side. Maybe there was still a hope. Draco tried with a shaking hand to feel the pulse.

A beam of silver light washed over Ron - Hermione had performed the checking charm she had developed during the war - with no response.

Draco caught Hermione just before she too, having passed out, could start rolling down the stairs.

* * *

**A/N:** A big apology to everyone who wanted Ron to make it through, especially to TearsOfTheForgotten, who had the premonition in the first chapter already.  
Also, I apologise for writing this one so short. I'll try to update as soon as possible. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed - remember that every review is appreciated and treasured. :)


	6. Change with the Times

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Change with the Times**

* * *

Draco stepped into the bookshop unsure about what to expect. Last time - and the only time - he had been there was to pick up Tisha after her working hours, and she had met him at the door. This day, it was still rather early in the afternoon and the shop was packed with Muggles.

He longed desperately for a chat, whatever brief, with Tisha, just to get his mind off of things. He looked around to find her but she was nowhere to be seen, so he decided to turn to some of the shop assistants.

"Excuse... excuse me," he tried to attract attention of the first man who he was fairly sure worked there. He was short, thin and balding, wore tiny glasses and had a small pencil behind his left ear.

"Yeah?"

"Could you tell me where I can find Tisha Malfoy?" The man looked at him dumbly and for a moment Draco feared he was too simple to understand an indirect question.

"She ain't workin' 'ere no more," the man said and turned back to the shelf he had been inspecting.

"Eh... what? I mean..."

"Can I help you?" Another man emerged from a side aisle. This one looked more intelligent and Draco repeated his question to him only to get a similar answer: Miss Malfoy wasn't working at the bookshop any more, she had handed in her notice the day before that day and had already left and they wouldn't really miss someone who would leave at such a short notice and was there anything else they could do for him?

Draco was back on the street before he knew it. For some reason, he didn't think a trip to Tisha's flat would be more successful, and he felt cheated.

* * *

"You can't be serious!" Snape exclaimed upon seeing the newly appointed Muggle Studies Professor. Minerva fought the urge to answer that of course she couldn't be Sirius - seeing a complete set of teachers combined with sleep deprivation made her a little light-headed - while Laeticia Malfoy simply smiled and took her place at the long table. Several other professors greeted her warmly and shot dark glances towards Snape.

"I mean, Headmistress, she is not a witch - and this is a wizarding school!" Snape continued heatedly. The lack of response made him angrier.

"Oh, hello, Severus, how nice of you to remember me," Tisha said before he could think of anything else to say. She leaned forward to look at him, three places from her on the same side of the table. She could only see his nose protruding from the line of the faces of the professors between them. "It's been so many years since we met for the last time - how have you been?" He tried to hide behind his colleagues but the tip of his nose never made it.

"What do you mean?" Moody barked at Snape before turning to Tisha. "A Malfoy - aren't you Lucius Malfoy's relative? A cousin?" he guessed.

"His sister," Tisha corrected. "And I am a Squib."

"Oh." Moody sat back and looked at Minerva, clearly confused by the idea of a Squib teaching at Hogwarts, but refusing to side with Snape.

"And it didn't stop me from passing my NEWTs at History and Muggle Studies," Tisha added.

"Now, that's unheard of," Binns entered the discussion. "A Squib teaching at Hogwarts! That wasn't possible in my days. Who will you hire next, a ghost?" he asked, apparently horrified and disgusted by the idea. Most of the professors stared at him, some considered pointing out Binns himself was a ghost, and Flitwick, who was seated next to Tisha, suddenly slipped under the table. Tisha went after him to see whether he needed any help, probably medical, only to find him laughing hysterically. Flitwick composed himself and beckoned Tisha closer. She leaned in and he whispered an explanation into her ear.

They reemerged together and Tisha helped Flitwick climb back into his high chair.

"I can assure you," she turned to Binns gravely, "that I am as able to teach my subject as you are able to teach yours." That made Hooch chuckle. She patted her chest and muttered something apologetic about a long night flight she had had to take.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, if we could get to the task at hand," Minerva said impatienly. "The new school year starts tomorrow and I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

* * *

Draco stood between Hermione and Ginny and felt incredibly stupid.

For one, he was the only one blond at the funeral, which made him stand out, and the fact he was wearing an expensive set of mourning robes didn't help. He was sticking out as a... as a...

As a very rich boy in a crowd of beggars.

The thought scared him - he had got over this, hadn't he? - and he tried to distract himself by watching the mourners.

Hermione and Ginny were staring ahead of them without movement, obviously not listening to the Ministry official who was talking very nicely of Ron and didn't seem to want to stop. Arthur Weasley was standing above the open grave, holding his weeping wife tightly to his side with his healthy hand. Next to them were the twins, stationed near their mother in order to be able to carry her out of the crowd in case she fainted or simply felt too weak. Bill and Fleur were holding hands. Fleur had tears in her eyes. And two steps away from his family, Percy was listening to the speech.

There were more Weasleys lining the path between the new grave and older ones and next to them the Prewetts, offering their comfort. Draco looked aside before any of them could meet his eyes. They had talked briefly before the ceremony had started and they hadn't seemed thrilled at seeing a Malfoy.

The official finally stopped his speech and Percy applauded him briefly. The mourners approached the grave to say the last goodbye to Ronald Bilius Weasley.

What a stupid, stupid thing to happen, Draco thought. Some kind of a dormant curse, the Healers had told them, powerful enough to prevent his own magic to save him; something woken up when Ron had woken up, something they hadn't noticed during lenghty examinations, residual magic they had missed.

Hermione stepped over to the grave and her shoulders started shaking again. One of the twins hugged her and led her away. Ginny didn't start crying. In fact, Draco hadn't ever seen her crying - not even when she had learned about Harry. The other twin took care of her.

Feeling inappropriate, Draco took his turn in standing over the grave. Stupid and unbelieavable thing to happen. The war had ended, and yet it had claimed another victim. He felt the eyes of everyone burning into him and drew himself back among the Weasleys he had befriended. Percy came forward.

Molly Weasley threw herself at Draco and hugged him firmly, muttering incoherently about her little boy. Draco hugged her akwardly and hoped she wouldn't start calling him Dracokin or anything of the sort.

Or at least not at public.

He caught one of the twins' eye over Mrs. Weasley's head. The young wizard seemed friendly and nodded at Draco curtly before whispering something into Ginny's ear. She looked up and faked a smile just for Draco.

Tomorrow, Ginny would leave for Hogwarts, Draco reminded himself and started rubbing Mrs. Weasley's back.

"Hermione." She turned to see Percy, his hand stretched towards her, his expression grave and purposely sad. She let him shake her hand.

"He was a good boy," Percy remarked, still holding her hand. "I knew him well and I'd like you to know..."

"Shut up!" Hermione shrieked and tore her hand out of his grasp. "You didn't know him at all - at all! You wanted him to leave Harry alone during the tournament - as if he would ever - ever..." Her lungs refused to support her shouting any more and went into spasm for a while, leaving her breathless. But Ginny and the twins backed Hermione up, forming a line that divided Percy from the rest of the family.

"Go away," Hermione spat when she calmed down a little. "Go away and don't come back." She turned away from him and walked away from the scene and in Draco's arms, Mrs. Weasley was weeping, whether for Ron or Percy or both, Draco couldn't tell.

* * *

Snape left the staff meeting with big red spots before his eyes. He returned to the dungeons taking long, even, energetic steps, never stopping, barely slowing when rounding a corner. Had there been any students in Hogwarts then, they would have cleared out of his way, fearing the worst.

And then, the only thing that happened was a Squib accepted as a Hogwarts Professor. That wasn't that bad.

Snape pushed the door to his rooms opened with so much force it hit the wall, causing one of Snape's jars with horrifying contents to fall down from its shelf and break to pieces. Its horrifying content tried to squirm in between the nearest piece of furniture and the wall, but Neville Longbottom caught it, repaired the jar and sealed it back in.

"Guess it didn't go well?" he said with his eyes still fixed to the jar. The content of the jar turned what seemed to be its back towards him and looked offended. Neville chuckled.

"It went marve-lousily," Snape exclaimed and sank into his armchair. "We are going to have an excellent Muggle Studies professor."

"Oh, really?" Neville muttered.

"Yes, of course. She is a Squib."

"There's a surprise."

"Of the century," Snape agreed. "A complete novelty."

"Well, times change. And you don't need any magic to teach that - it's all just..."

"This is a magical building! Do you realise how _dangerous_ it can be for a Muggle?" Snape erupted. Neville blinked.

_Good grief, Severus, you care for her well-being!_

"Filch manages," he said instead of anything more probing. He was very curious about the new teacher, but there was a good deal of explosives sitting before him and the last thing he needed was to set the explosives off. Snape didn't answer to that, muttering darkly something unintelligible.

Neville walked around him and started tending to a pair of bizarre plants he had placed on Snape's table.

"What's that?" Snape barked. He had somehow summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey and was now looking for an empty glass.

"Just a pair of Egyptian Shrivelfigs. I got them for research. Don't worry, I won't leave them here. I took them along to keep an eye on them. Sometimes they..." Neville's happy speech about shrivelfigs was interrupted by one of the plants. It sprang to life and started wriggling impatiently. Neville fished a small phial from his pocket and sprayed the plant with its contents. The shrivelfig calmed down and rested its leaves on the rim of its pot.

"See? Just need a bit of care." Neville fetched two glasses from Snape's cupboard, let Snape fill them, handed him one and sat down on the rug before the fireplace.

"How many..."

"So, this Muggle Studies professor," Neville said, "what is she like?"

"She is a Malfoy, and that says it all."

"If she's a Malfoy _and_ a Squib, it probably doesn't say anything," Neville countered logically, being aware of the just-keep-the-family-purely-pureblood policy.

"You don't know her," Snape growled.

"And you do?" Snape ignored the question and Neville decided to watch the flames rather than dig deeper. In the end, it was Snape who broke the silence.

"Of course, when I thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, it did." Neville sipped at his whiskey, letting the older man to continue in his own time.

"I was appointed to _look after her,_" Snape said bitterly. "You know, show her around, help her move in, such nonsenses."

"Uh-huh."

"As if I wanted to spend my last quiet night in ten months pampering her!"

"You mean she's already in the castle, you're supposed to help her and you're sitting here?" Snape nodded, his lips curving into an unfriendly smile. "You're not serious! How is she going to get her luggage through the castle without magic?"

"Ah, she'll manage," Snape dismissed Neville's worries. "After all, Filch manages."


	7. The Last Night

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
The Last Night**

* * *

Tisha was standing in the Entrance Hall feeling like a fool. Of course Snape would let her deal with her luggage on her own. How stupid of her to take everything along without making sure there would be someone to help her move it in her new rooms.

Or at least somewhere near it.

Or at the _very_ least show her the bloody room.

But he had to show up, didn't he? The Headmistress asked him to show Tisha around and to help her, so he _had_ to comply... somehow.

There was a strange noise and Tisha peered into the dark corridor to find its source. Two lights flashed against her and to her relief, a cat - a common, if a bit old and worn out cat - appeared before her.

"Hello there," Tisha said softly and reached out to pet the animal. It had its own opinion on making friends so late in the evening, and it hissed at her with barred teeth. Tisha drew her hand back hastily and the cat slipped between the pile of her luggage and the wall. Tisha looked around. If she didn't want to spend the night in the hall, she had to find her rooms somehow. She had only spent a week at Hogwarts before, and it had been buzzing with students then. Everything looked different now. Besides, she had been accomodated in one of the towers with regular students of her age - she would hardly sleep in a dormitory with the students she was supposed to teach.

Maybe, if she tried really hard, she could remember how to get to the Headmistress office - provided she kept the same office Dumbledore used - it wasn't that late yet and the Headmistress might have been there. But Tisha had only been there once, with her Grandmother to accompany her, and she had been too interested in the castle itself to pay attention to the route.

"Well, where there's a will, there's a way, and I certainly have a will," she said loudly. And then it occured to her - the place had to be run by some sort of caretakers, and the best caretakers the wizarding world knew were house elves.

"Is there anyone who could help me?" she tried to ask in a calm, loud voice. House elves usually had a way of receiving such messages. The house elves of Hogwarts, however, didn't seem to have heard her. Getting nervous, she started tapping with her foot. _Tap, tap, tap-a-tap, tap, tap, tap-a-tap..._ She realised she was calling to the house elves of Malfoy Manor, who had been instructed to be at her service, and stopped...

"Miss Laeticia!" a high-pitched voice exclaimed and next she knew, her saviour was jumping up and down before her. He was dressed in an unbelievable number of different socks and a long striped shirt and wore at least eight knitted caps at the same time. The caps didn't manage to hide his glowing orbs and flapping ears.

"Dobby?" she asked, disbelieving her eyes. But he was real - the only house elf she had ever met who had behaved like a thinking being rather than a slaving shadow was bouncing happily before her, and she reached out to still him. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Dobby is a Hogwarts employee!" the house elf pronounced proudly. "Dobby is getting real paying and has a real day off and it's all because of Mister Harry Potter, Miss Laeticia." At this, Dobby's big eyes filled with tears and his ears hung down. "Harry Potter gave Dobby his freedom and he talked to Dobby like to an equal and Dobby misses Harry Potter." Tisha wiped a tear off Dobby's face.

"He must have been a real hero," she said, unable to find anything better to say.

"He was. Did you call Dobby?" he inquired.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I did - although I didn't really hope you would hear me." She smiled at the elf and his eyes lit up again. "I'm supposed to start teaching here tomorrow and I have all my things here, but I don't know where my rooms are. Could you help me? In fact, all..." But Dobby was already gone, only to reappear a minute later.

"Dobby knows! Dobby called help to take your things and Dobby will take miss there."

"Er - could we go on foot? I need to learn my way around," Tisha said nervously, remembering clearly all the ways in which house elves could take her around a building.

"Of course! What is you teaching here?" Dobby grabbed her hand in the same manner he used to lead her when she was a child. Tisha didn't mind. She knew how he had been delighted both by this privilege and by the shared secret no-one else had known about.

"Muggle Studies," she answered, trying to remember all the staircases, corridors and turns.

"Oh, you is going to tell the children! You knows everything about Muggles!" Tisha chuckled.

"I don't think I know _everything,_ Dobby - but I know enough." They reached their destination, a mundane-looking door in one of the numerous nameless corridors. There was an armour standing next to the door and when Tisha reached for the knob, it stepped in her way.

"Oh," Tisha exclaimed. "Oh, the password - of course!" She patted her pockets, then remembered she hadn't written the password down, relying on her memory. "What it - I know - _Ne dicas reddam malum._" The armour stepped back into its original position and Tisha opened the door.

"Does miss want tea?" Dobby asked.

"That would be nice, Dobby - and your company. You must tell me what you've been up to."

"Dobby hasn't done anything bad, miss!" the elf cried out.

"Calm down, Dobby," Tisha smiled. "I'm just joking." She looked around her new living room while Dobby was away preparing tea. There weren't many furnishings, just a cupboard, a table, three comfortable chairs, and empty shelves along one of the walls. The floor was covered with a thick green carpet and there was a small white rug before the fireplace. Tisha peered into a spartan bedroom, a tiny study with a desk, and a considerably large bathroom that looked like having been recently converted from a common student's bathroom.

Tisha returned to the living room and knocked on the table. Good, solid wood. She noticed something lying on the mantelpiece.

It was a pot with Floo powder. Tisha smiled.

* * *

Neville was tending to the shrivelfigs and Snape was smiling unpleasantly into the fireplace when the flames turned to green - more venomous than brilliant. Snape's smile immediately turned into a sour scowl.

"Severus," Tisha said pleasantly. "I just wanted to express my _gratitude_ for showing me around when you could have spent your time much _more_ usefully. You've been most helpful - really, I wouldn't feel so _welcomed_ without your help. No, no - don't get up - you need your rest after all you've done for me tonight. I will mention your efforts to the Headmistress - you've overdone yourself - have a nice night." She winked and disappeared.

Neville supressed a chuckle. Snape growled. Neville burst in laughter.

"Good grief, I'm genuinely sorry she won't teach me - what a woman!" he cried out after a while.

"Did you notice who was behind her?" Snape forced through gritted teeth.

"No, I wasn't looking." Neville watched Snape's face curiously. It was changing colours from embarassed red to angry red and back.

"A house elf!" Snape exploded and jumped up. "A bloody nosy slavering creature with no pride at all!"

"Well, she probably concluded you weren't coming, so she went for the next best thing," Neville noted innocently. Snape stared at him mutely for precisely four seconds.

"OUT!" he bellowed, this time acquiring a shade of red that escaped any kind of description. Neville didn't lose a second, grabbed the plant he had been caressing and fled.

Snape turned back, soothed and pleased by this effect, and sat down in his armchair. He rested his head back, savouring the last hours of blessed peace.

Until Neville's _other_ shrivelfig started wailing.

* * *

Ginny watched the shadow moving across the bedroom's ceiling. It would reach the further corner soon, and that would mean the night would soon be over.

Ginny turned and looked at the still lump on the other bed. Hermione, for some reason, could sleep through the nights. Ginny mostly lay just thinking, wondering, wishing until dawn, when the tiredness took over and forced her mind to follow body into deep, dreamless sleep.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Ginny fell asleep sooner. But then she dreamed, and none of her dreams were pleasant.

In the morning, she would leave for Hogwarts - Hogwarts without Ron, without Luna, without Hermione, without... She turned abruptly, trying to escape the thought.

Without Harry.

Sometimes, like now, she felt tears trying to find a way out of her eyes. She didn't want to let them. She was afraid she would never stop crying. Sometimes, mostly, she only felt an empty space deep within her heart, a space no-one could fill. She felt as if there were no future whatsoever; but then, there was Blaise.

There was always Blaise.

Closer at Hogwarts, just half an hour in decent weather, maybe even less. But she would have to get out of the castle somehow. She bit her lower lip, eyes fixed on _that_ closet.

Hermione snored and turned.

Ginny slipped out of the bed and crept to the closet, automatically evading all squeaking boards. The closet gave a soft noise of protest when she opened it and she froze, but Hermione remained still. Ginny reached inside and took Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

As quietly as possible Ginny sneaked back in bed, tucked the cloak under her pillow and prepared for the last hour of waiting for sleep. The cloak smelled of Harry and one solitary tear escaped her eye. She wiped it off hastily.

Miles away, in a small house in Hogsmeade, Blaise watched the moon, wishing against all odds for something that would make the next ten months bearable.

* * *

**A/N:** _Ne dicas: Reddam malum_ means roughly in Latin _Say not: I will return evil_ - it's a part of Proverbs: _20:22. Say not: I will return evil: wait for the Lord, and he will deliver thee._ I used the translation from 


	8. Dreams and Wishes

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Dreams and Wishes**

* * *

In the morning, Snape found himself in a foul mood. He had spent a good deal of the night tending to Neville's shrivelfig, which hadn't been anything easy - especially since Snape hadn't known a thing about this particular species. After several vain attempts to calm it down, each of them gaining him no more than ten minutes of peace, he had put the plant in a large jar and cast a Silencing spell on it.

Unfortunately, the spell had worn off twoish in the morning. The desperate cries must have been heard even in the Gryffindor tower.

Otherwise, September the first was a fine day - the sky was clear and blue, the wind mild and the landscape was bathing in golden sunlight. But no amount of sunshine could lift Snape's spirit when he entered the Great Hall and saw Tisha in a vivid discussion with Minerva McGonagall. Both women looked up when the door closed behind him and Tisha's eyes were as cold as ice.

Minerva stood up and met Snape before he reached the table.

"Thank you, Severus," she said proudly. "I knew you would turn out to be an excellent guide." She smiled encouragingly, patted his shoulder and left.

Snape approached Tisha warily. So she wanted to keep that between them - good thing she wasn't as childish as to tell on him - but what else had this Malfoy up her sleeve? He sat down next to her and muttered something that could have been "good morning".

Or "go to hell", whatever.

"I'd say we're even," Tisha responded cooly without even looking at him. She was picking in her food, seemingly deeply interested in the plate's contents.

"Are we?"

"You still have to show me round the castle, though."

"Oh, what joy," Snape muttered darkly.

"Oh, come on, it won't be so bad - I mean, you'll get to be the smart one this time!" Snape turned to her to meet a slightly warmer, somewhat amused gaze.

"I'm always the smart one," he answeres defensively.

"Of course you are." This time the laughter was audible in her voice, although when he shot a glance at her, Tisha was perfectly calm, her face neutral.

* * *

"Ginny! Hermione! It's high time you got up!" Mrs. Weasley's voice interlaced with Hermione's dreams and for a while, she was completely desoriented. She even reached out to cuddle the warm body she had been dreaming about, and the coldness and emptiness she found instead woke her up.

She sat up and looked at the other bed. Ginny was still hidden in her bedsheets, although she was stirring already.

"Morning," Hermione said flatly. Ginny sat up and yawned.

"Morning," she replied. They washed and got dressed without uttering a word and descended the stairs to greet Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. Draco was already there, nursing a cup of tea, and Mr. Weasley joined them shortly afterwards.

"I thought," Ginny said after a quiet, quick breakfast, "I could just Apparate to the station - I mean, since I have the licence, we don't have to drive all the way to London. It'd be much quicker." Hermione looked at Draco. He could Apparate fairly well, but he hadn't got the licence yet, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let him Apparate without it.

"I'll just stay here, it doesn't matter where we say good-bye, does it?" Draco said quickly.

"I'll stay, too," Hermione added. "You can have a family thing at the station, you know." Any other time, Mrs. Weasley would insist Hermione was a part of family, but now she thought she knew the true reason behind it - to see the Hogwarts Express without Ron and Harry at her side would be just too much for Hermione.

So at half past ten, they all gathered in the living room, Ginny hugged both Hermione and Draco and the Weasleys distributed her luggage among them. Three loud _cracks_ later, Hermione and Draco were alone in the Burrow.

Draco contemplated suggesting a game of chess, but he knew it had been Ron's favourite desk game and he didn't want to hurt Hermione. He thought about asking her to a fly around the Weasleys' garden - but again, that would bring memories of Ron and Harry, and besides, Hermione had never been a girl to just... fly around.

"I have a book I'd like to finish," Hermione said before Draco could come up with anything and disappeared in the girls' room.

And... what to do _now?_ Draco thought.

* * *

"This is beautiful!" Tisha cried excitedly. Snape smiled sourly. They had started their tour at the top level and Tisha had fearlessly climbed on the Astronomy tower, leaving Snape no other choice but to follow. He had found her leaning over the edge, not just looking - _consuming_ the landscape with her eyes. Despite her gestures to have a look Snape remained close to the door, unwilling to approach the very spot _where..._

"What is that?" Tisha asked and pointed at something in distance. Unhappilly, Snape walked to her side.

"Hogsmeade," he growled and backed away. Tisha turned to him curiously, but had more sense than to ask about his mood.

"I guess we don't have much time to spend here," she sighed regretfully.

"You can always return here later."

"I will," she muttered.

"... alone," he added. "Now if you please..." He held the door for her, more to get her out of the place than to be polite, and she carefully descended the stairs.

"What's the next stop, captain?" she asked when they returned to the corridor below the tower. Snape studied her face for a minute. She looked very young, with her eyes lit up, cheeks reddened and that eager expression all over her face. A _child._ He scowled and walked away without saying a word, presuming Tisha would follow him.

* * *

Ginny leant out of the window and added one last wave. She didn't feel the least bit happy or even excited, but had to show some effort for her parents' sake. The platform dissapeared as the Hogwarts Express sped up and Ginny closed the window and sagged against her seat.

Her friends started chatting, exchanging summer stories and gossip. Now and then some of them shot a glance in Ginny's direction, but no-one dared trying to cheer her up. They _knew._ Ginny closed her eyes.

She missed Ron. And Hermione. She missed the tension between them and the teasing and the banter. Hell, she even missed Luna - not that she would have ever believed she would miss Luna Lovegood, but here she was, all sad and gloomy because Luna, among others, would never come back to Hogwarts.

She allowed herself to drift into sweet memories: Luna with her silly hats and vegetables as jewellery, Ron hovering in mid-air on his broom, Hermione with her nose buried in a thick book, Harry trying to understand his own notes from Transfiguration and scratching in his hair... and then he would look up at her and smile boyishly. The corners of her own mouth curved up ever so slightly as she pictured Harry scratching his head. The memories turned into dreams and Ginny slept, absorbed in a little happy world lost forever.

* * *

"I don't understand why you didn't ask Horace to come back," Moody muttered as he was trying to keep up with Minerva's brisk pace, look extremely unhappy and not look ridiculous at the same time.

"Alastor," Minerva sighed tiredly. She was exhausted and nervous and really didn't want to start the discussion once again. Moreover, she had stated her opinion very clearly on many occasions and she wasn't going to change her mind.

"I know you don't like him, but really, he's only misstepped and Snape..."

"Severus," Minerva hissed, stopping abruptly and spinning to face Moody, "is a highly respected member of Hogwarts' staff, a war hero and a very dear friend of mine, who put his very own life at risk during the war to help the Order. Horace Slughorn, on the other hand, misused his authority as a Master of this school and a Head of Slytherin for his personal gain, which just by sheer _luck_ didn't cost us any lives." Minerva's face adopted an extremely closed expression and only the slightest touch of colour in her cheeks gave away her ire. Her fists tightened for a moment before she composed herself and continued, "Now, if you can excuse me, I have a lot to do before the students arrive." She walked away from him, her head held up, her back straight and her pace even brisker than before. Moody, despite having just been chided like a child, didn't look put off. In fact, his own eye grew wide as his magical one followed Minerva's progress round the corner, and a smile appeared on his face. He licked his lips quickly and decided to spend the next few hours in his office, making careful tactical plans.

* * *

"I hope from now on you will be able to find your way around the castle without my assistance," Snape stated in the second they stepped into the Entrance Hall again. Tisha's eyebrows shot up. The hell she would - an assistance of a mentally defective troll would be more helpful than Snape's. Not that Snape's comments had been useless - no, they had been accurate and informing. Only they had been very rare. The aforementioned troll would speak about as rarely as Snape, but it would acknowledge Tisha more often, if only to try and kill her. And it wouldn't make sure to let her know how annoying her presence was every possible and even impossible opportunity.

Snape didn't wait for her response. He didn't even look at her - yes, he was definitely happy to get rid of her. Doing anything without his assistance would be a pleasant choice for both of them.

But Tisha was a Malfoy and she wasn't willing to simply take the pleasant option, especially if the option was pleasant for someone as hostile as Snape.

"And what about the dungeons?" she shouted after his retreating back. Snape halted and turned to throw a menacing glare at her. She didn't waver.

"You, Miss Malfoy," Snape answered in a silky voice reserved for his most hated enemies, "don't need to go to the dungeons. Your classroom is at the first floor, and so is your office."

"But what if, oh dear Mister Snape," she retorted, approaching him with her hands clasped behind her back, "I patrol the corridors in the night and happen to encounter a Slytherin student who lost his or her way to the dormitories?"

"No good Slytherin can get lost in the castle," Snape assured her.

"Then the Slytherin in question is out of the Slytherin domain to cause some kind of trouble," Tisha concluded. "The better reason for me, as a teacher, to make sure he or she will return to the Slytherin common room immediately."

Snape watched her warily while trying to find a flaw in her reasoning. Eventually, he gave up and bared his teeth in an irritated snarl.

"Very well. I will show you the way to the Slytherin common room. However, after that, I will need some time for myself before the students arrive." Tisha chuckled and followed him down the stairs. She was very curious about the dungeons. Her mother had always questioned Lucius about Hogwarts during summer and Tisha used to listen in. From Lucius' description of the castle, she had pictured it as a marvellous, splendid, colourful place. The reality, however, had exceeded whatever fantasy she had thought of.

And she hadn't seen the dungeons yet.

Snape didn't bother to slow down and comment on their route. He dearly wished he could be back in his office - or even better, his rooms - getting mentally ready for the next ten months. But no, he had to baby-sit Lucius' little sister.

Only she wasn't little anymore. She had grown up into a young woman. How old was she, one year younger than him? She must have been, if he remembered correctly. She didn't look half the age he _felt._ He glanced over his shoulder and saw her lingering before a dark painting, leaning towards it to distinguish more details, and he glared at her to silently make her move faster. Hidden behind an impatient scowl, he appraised the view. The Muggle clothes she had worn for the staff meeting, he decided, had shown too much and killed the imagination. For today, she had changed into a plain, austere set of robes in different shades of grey and light blue. She looked very Malfoyish and the thought disturbed Snape.

She was a Squib, she wasn't _supposed_ to look like a Malfoy.

"Oh. Sorry," she muttered and left the painting. She followed him quietly, and - thanks Merlin! - quickly through the maze of corridors that led to the Slytherin common room. They reached the plain wall that disguised the entrance and Snape pointed at it mutely. Tisha cleared her throat.

"Burst in," she said. She chuckled when the wall opened. "At least the password is safe."

"How do you mean that?" Snape caught her elbow before she could enter. "We really don't have time for this." The wall closed up and returned to pretending it was nothing more than a wall.

"If someone wanted to guess the password, they would never try something so... _Gryffindorish,"_ Tisha shrugged. Snape sighed and decided to take the shortest route to his armchair and a glass of whiskey.

* * *

Harry looked up and smiled at her, but when he spoke, only hisses came out of his mouth. She looked around to find the snake - there had to be one - and saw a monstrous snake with Ron's head.

"He says he's sorry for the mushrooms," the snake said. "That's alright with you, but I wanted a bite, too!" He opened his mouth, wide, as if he really were a snake, his jaw falling to where his knees should have been.

Harry's hisses became more urgent and she looked at him. He was pointing at something, someone... a man clad in dirty black robes, kneeling, rocking slowly back and forth. The man's face was obscured by a curtain of long dark hair. And she knew it was Snape - although he didn't look like Snape - not even his face looked like his when he turned it to her.

"Please," he whispered. His voice was rough, his face pale and his eyes mad. She took a step back, but the distance between them didn't change. "Please!" The very thought of Snape begging was terrifying. What could have caused the man to break down? What horrors had he witnessed? "Please... please... please..." She couldn't stand it anymore. She turned and ran, but wherever she turned, the broken figure was always there, sometimes with Snape's pale face, sometimes with a pair of blue eyes and long white beard of Albus Dumbledore, but always frightened and frightening and pleading and she was running without knowing where, nearly blind with tears that were falling from her eyes, not screaming just because she didn't have enough breath left for screaming, running, running, running until she tripped over something...

Hermione sat up and reached for her wand. One would think that after going through the nightmare three times just the last three days, she would become immune to its horrors. One would be wrong. Hermione stilled her hands enough to fill the glass she had put on her bedside table the morning after Ron's death with water.

She knew she should try to analyse the dream to get rid of it. It was just a signal from her subconscious, a riddle to be solved. But it was a riddle that never failed to shake her. No matter how often she saw the image, a broken Snape was a sign of events so terrible she couldn't even imagine them.

She tried to lull herself with pretense Snape had been only exhausted beyond any belief - and he had been dead on his feet - but she knew better. She had seen his eyes.

Another glass of water. She lay back on the bed, pushed the unfinished book out of her way and closed her eyes. From downstairs, faint sounds could be heard. Mrs. Weasley was tidying up. She was doing a lot of tidying and cleaning since the war had ended.

Hermione got her breath under control and decided to offer Mrs. Weasley a helping hand.

* * *

**A/N:** I sincerely apologise for the long pause. The story got to a section I haven't pictured clearly before I started, so I actually have to work on it (instead of just catch the words as they flow from my mind freely, like I did it with previous chapters). Also, my real life got in the way. Can't promise it won't repeat, sorry I am for it, there are things I just can't control.  
To stop you from flame me on the topic: Minerva is being unfair and extremely hard to Slughorn in this chapter. I will try to make the situation clearer in future chapters, but it may take some time (both in the story and in real).  
I hope I'll get back to the story soon. This part is a bit hard for me (you know, to work on the plot instead of just letting 'em banter and argue), so please be patient. Thanks for reading and if you have anything to say, don't hesitate to review! :)


	9. Missing Pieces

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Missing Pieces**

* * *

Neville passed the turn to the Potions classroom and took the longer way to Snape's rooms, all the time cursing the man who would make his door only appear when approached from a certain direction. He stopped before the offending entrance and calmed himself down. The door was also charmed only to answer password spoken calmly and clearly.

In the times when it was charmed to answer passwords at all, which wasn't September the first.

"Severus?" Neville called while knocking at the door. He knew shouting and kicking would get him nowhere - or, to be more precise, in trouble. Asking politely might have resulted in attracting Snape's attention.

Neville knocked once again and gave up. Snape was either still angry with him, which was the reason why Neville's password hadn't worked, or he wasn't present, or most likely both. Neville could leave for now and send Snape an owl, but that would mean his shrivelfig would remain in Snape's care for at least a day longer, and tonight the students would start roaming the castle's corridors, so paying a visit would become more complicated. No, he had to stay and deal with it now.

Sometimes he wished he could keep himself in check all the time when he was hanging out with Snape. Sometimes he just wished Snape would grow a sense of humour. But he knew both were impossible, so he just sat down and prepared to wait.

He must have dozed off because he was startled by two voices nearing.

"... but then, he didn't have to leave - he just found it more pleasant," said a female voice he didn't recognize at first. "Easier."

"If he had stayed, he would have been persecuted - of course, that would have been so pleasant," Snape barked impatiently. Neville stood up and looked for the nearest escape route. If he was impatient while in a discussion he was interested in, he was in a bad mood.

"Leaving everything and everybody you know isn't pleasant either. It's bloody painful, if you ask me, but sometimes it's easier than staying." They were too close for Neville to leave. Any second now, they would round the nearest corner and see him. Neville sighed and squared his shoulders. He didn't have to stay for the afternoon - he would just ask for his shrivelfig, get it and be on his way. Child's play.

"Oh really," Snape snarled. That meant, Neville thought unhappily, the woman had proven her point in their discussion and Snape didn't want to admit it.

They came in view at that point and Neville smiled politely. So this was her - the Squib mistress of Hogwarts. Both Snape and Professor Malfoy were silent until they reached him, so he had enough time study her. She was tall and elegant, dressed in a nice set of robes, and although she was new to Hogwarts, she had an air of confidence that made her look like someone who had known their way around for ages.

"Ah, another," Snape snapped and pointedly waved his wand to unlock the door.

"Professor Malfoy," Neville bowed his head to her.

"Do I have a signature on my forehead?" she queried curiously.

"Erm - no. I've heard about you. I'm Neville Longbottom." She offered him her hand and he shook it briefly.

"I must admit that I have never heard of you."

"Well, that's hardly a..."

"Was there anything you needed?" Snape bellowed from his living room.

"Just my shrivelfig, please," Neville retorted calmly.

"Is he always like this?" Malfoy asked in a whisper.

"No - rarely, I mean, just sometimes - every other day or so."

"Then get the hell in here and collect it!" Snape's voice bounced of the walls and caused something in the next corridor to fall down. Neville, who had half expected Snape to throw the plant on his head, smiled at Malfoy and entered the lion's den. The door fell shut behind him.

Tisha's eyebrows shot up. There was apparently more to Snape than she had believed. She lightly knocked at the door.

Snape opened the door so violently Tisha's first instict was to flee.

"What do you want now?" he barked.

"Just wanted to say thank-you," she explained mildly. He made a rude noise and moved to slam the door again. "Really," she insisted, all laughter banished from both her voice and eyes. That surprised Snape and he looked at her with distrust. "Thank you," she said as sincerely as she could manage.

"Oh. Ah... well, you're welcome." Tisha counted it as a victory that he closed the door gently and looked around her. She had to get back in the Entrance Hall, which was... that way?

To ask directions now would be a little too late, so she decided to try her luck at first and call Dobby if she didn't succeed.

Meanwhile, Neville watched Snape curiously. Very little could be read from Snape's face except when he was angry, but from the way his shoulders and back tensed or relaxed, Neville had learnt to guess nuances of Snape's mood.

Right now, after closing the door quietly, Snape was confused. That was just slightly better than angry and it could change into angry any moment. Especially if someone decided to probe into the root of it. Neville found his shrivelfig and examined it.

"So what do you make of Professor Malfoy?" Snape asked so suddenly he made Neville jump. "I didn't run any experiments on it, just gave it water whenever it started shrieking."

"So it's probably hungry. Hm." Neville dug a phial from his robes and gave the plant a generous amount. The plant's leaves rustled happilly.

"What's that?"

"Just a mixture of manures and some vitamins."

"Vitamins?!"

"I want them to be healthy." Neville carefully rubbed one of the leaves and sniffed his fingers.

"And about my first question?" Snape had poured himself a glass of whiskey and was sipping at it, eyes burning a hole in Neville's head. Neville scratched behind his left ear and remembered the question.

_That she can make you not angry,_ he thought but didn't dare to say it aloud.

"I don't know - just met her - you tell me."

"Where is your magical gift for reading people?" Snape dared. Neville shot him a dirty look, but ran his mind to dig some information from what he knew about the woman.

She had spent some time in discussion with Snape in a bad mood, but still had the guts to knock on his door after he had slammed it in her face. "She's... daring. Reasonable," came from the way she calmly discussed. It was a bit of a guess, since he didn't know what the two had been talking about, but Snape merely cocked his head, which most probably meant he agreed.

Neville poured himself a glass of whiskey and levitated Snape's other armchair closer to the fireplace, pointedly leaving Snape's favourite one vacant.

"That's all?" Snape asked when Neville nestled in the armchair.

"Hm. She's traditional when it's appropriate, but likes to make an experiment or two. She knows her value and her strenghts and she knows how to use them." Snape filled his glass, offered the bottle to Neville and sat down in his own armchair.

"Those are, of course, only wild guesses." Neville grinned. He was sure about most of it, but for reasons he didn't want to explain. If Malfoy hadn't been testing Snape's reactions, he would eat his shrivelfigs, disregarding both the awful taste and its hallucinatory effects.

"Of course," he agreed. "What do you think about her?" Snape shrugged. "You must think _something,_" Neville challenged.

"Well, she's... very annoying,"

"You mean persistent?"

"I mean annoying! Just like you - doesn't give a rest until she gets what she wants." Personally, Neville doubted Snape had the slightest notion about Malfoy's true intentions. Not because Snape was such a bad judge of character, he only tended to expect the worst from people and always guessed everyone to be a lot like him.

"Okay, so she's annoying. What else?"

Snape muttered something unintelligible and probably rude, but went on, "She's naive. Thinks she can change the world." Neville contemplated arguing. To start a philosophical discussion about the influence of an individual on the world as a total - maybe it would be safer than gossiping about Professor Malfoy. Because if they went on like this, Neville's tongue might slip. He may say how Snape reminded him of a certain Ronald Weasley, and that would be the end of a pleasant afternoon.

"As a whole, she is infuriating," Snape continued. "Well-endowed with the infamous Gryffindor bravery."

"She's a Gryffindor?" Neville blurted out in surprise. She seemed to be anything but a keen, more-guts-than-wits typical Gryffindor - but then, there must be a house for everyone and some people could fit more than one - or none.

"Never been sorted as far as I know." Neville hid his smile in the glass. For Snape, infuriating and Gryffindor meant nearly the same.

"And she's been infuriating you all the day," Neville said to hide his amusement. "Poor you." Snape looked at him and Neville quickly made sure his face looked serious.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape said dangerously and Neville swore silently, "are you, by any chance, mocking me?"

"Er - no?" Instead of the fit of rage Neville had expected, Snape just waved his hand, splashing a little of whiskey on the rug, and looked away from him.

"Why I put up with you is beyond me."

"Without me, you would have no-one to torment when the students aren't here," Neville offered.

"Good point, summon the chains, will you?" Neville summoned the bottle instead, inspecting the considerable drop in the level of whiskey.

"I should be on my way, before the students arrive," he said, placing the bottle out of Snape's view.

"Don't remind me," Snape growled. "So little time left." He checked the time and frowned. "The last package of asphodel should have arrived already." He got up and left the room, presumably to check whether the owl had delivered the order to the Potions classroom or his office. He muttered something at the door and Neville just wondered whether his password had been reactivated.

When Snape failed to return within the next twenty minutes, Neville collected the shrivelfig and left. The door fell shut behind him and he hesitated.

"I'm such a fool," he said to the door and it swung open obediently. Neville chuckled and closed the door again. When he was passing Snape's office, he heard him arguing with some witch about an unacceptable delivery time.

A Gryffindor though he was, he didn't feel as daring as to interrupt them just to say his good-bye.

* * *

When Ginny woke up, the compartment was empty and the sky outside was getting grey. She stretched and decided to change into the school robes.

"He- erm, sorry." Ginny let the robes fall around her body and turned. A small boy was standing at the door to the compartment. His face was completely red.

"I - I must have got lost - thought it was my compartment. Sorry." Ginny smiled at him. She didn't recognise him and he was most probably one of the first years.

"That's okay. I should have locked the door. Your first time on the train?" The boy nodded.

"And it's wonderful. I heard we are nearly there - Hogwarts, I mean. Is it as beautiful as they say? Oh, I'm Robert," he said in one breathe. "I read so much about it," he added and Ginny realised who he was reminding her of.

"Would you want me to help you find your compartment?" she offered. Robert shook his head.

"I'll manage. Thank you, eh..."

"Ginny." She offered him her hand and he took it with an expression of awe. Now the blush had left his face, he looked unusually pale. The size of his eyes didn't help to improve the image. They were huge, there was simply no other word to describe them. They, combined with his eagerness and small size, made Robert resemble a house-elf.

"So you read a lot, Robert?" she asked curiously. The prospect of having a brand new bookworm at Hogwarts intrigued her. Robert just nodded to that.

"I read all of my textbooks and it's all so... so exciting! Maybe except for History, that's just like the History at my elementary school." He pulled a face to describe how much he thought about History. "Just battles and political intrigues - it's all the same, wizards or Muggles."

"You're a Muggleborn, then."

"Yes. It gave Mum and Dad quite a shock when the man came to tell us about it." Ginny couldn't get rid of the impression she was talking to someone a hell of a lot older than eleven. Must be all the reading. Had Hermione been like that when she was eleven?

"And what do they think about magic?" she asked.

"It's wonderful!" Robert exclaimed. "Dad even started reading the Potions textbook - he's a chemist and he says Potions are very much like chemistry. He wanted me to become a chemist, too, but now he says becoming a potion-brewer would be enough." Robert chuckled. Ginny didn't understand where the joke came, but smiled nonetheless.

"I hope the Potions Master will be good," Robert remarked. Ginny's smile disappeared. There were many words she could use to describe Snape, but good wasn't among them.

"Er... he knows what he's talking about," she offered and Robert accepted it as a yes.

"I'll go to find my compartment. It was nice to meet you, Ginny," he said politely.

"See you around," Ginny said.

Merlin help the boy if he ended up in Gryffindor, she thought and eased her trunk from the luggage rack as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station.

* * *

Snape watched the wriggling student body. Regarded from a distance, the students looked like a big animal, rolling over the tables and seats and making a lot of noise.

Maybe he should have declined Minerva's offer for the students' sake.

Sprout led the first years in and placed the Sorting Hat on its stool. The line of the first years was reminiscent of a snake. Only they were probably going to be a pain in... in the neck, Snape corrected himself. Strong language was off-limits now, around the children.

Finally the sorting was done. Minerva got up to make the announcements - there were bets placed on how long she would make them keep waiting before the feast, Snape had heard. The Gryffindors accepted Professor Vectra as their new Head of House with a polite applause. The Slytherins accepted him with an embarassed applause. No-one paid much attention to the new set of dos and don'ts set by Filch and Snape could tell already which of the well-known troublemakers were already planning on breaking the rules just for the sake of breaking the rules.

If there was a real wisdom in the world, Dumbledore must have possessed it, because he had let everyone eat before getting to the nuisances.

It took Snape a whole plate of roast-beef with fried potatoes to realise Minerva was just picking at her meal and frowning.

"Is anything the matter, Headmistress?" he asked to speed up the process that would, no doubt, end with _him_ as the one chosen to deal with the trouble.

"They aren't here," she stated discontentedly.

"Who isn't here?" He already knew the answer - or feared it.

"Longbottom, Granger and Malfoy," she hissed. Down the table, Tisha lifted her head and looked at them. Snape scowled her into dropping her gaze back to her plate.

"Oh, them. You wanted them to return to finish their seventh year," he said.

"Correct. And they haven't come." Snape watched the frown. There was something he should have placed his bet on - because he had known, he _had_ known, she would miss something.

"And have you invited them to come?" he queried, his eyes never leaving Minerva's face. The expression of realisation was priceless.

"Oh."

"Correct," he retorted and started looking for a pudding worth the moment.

"You could have reminded me," Minerva hissed again.

"I am not the deputy headmaster - and before you ask, I will not become the deputy headmaster. However, you should get someone to do the job - and let me make this straight, I am not offering."

"I heard you the first time." Minerva's lips became one long, thin line.

"I just wanted to make it clear," Snape explained. "What about Sprout? She handled the first years sufficiently." Minerva gave him a disgusted look, but turned to the Hufflepuff Head of House, conveniently seated at her other hand, and started a conversation.

Down the table, Tisha was watching him again, and when their eyes met, she raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Snape saluted her with his goblet. She frowned.

A man had to savour these moments of peace, Snape thought contentedly.

* * *

In the morning of September the second, the Burrow was silent. Mr. Weasley had left before Draco and Hermione woke up and Mrs. Weasley was in the garden when they came in the kitchen. Rather than letting the children - Draco and Hermione exchanged exasperated looks - ruin her kitchen, she made them breakfast.

The owls caught them by surprise.

"Do you think Ginny is so homesick already?" Draco asked. Hermione shook her head.

"This is for you," she handed him one letter and sat back to open her own. Draco looked at the Hogwarts crest on the letter and felt his heart rate speed up.

He tore the letter open and felt disappointed when he only found one piece of parchment inside.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy," the letter read, "I would like to invite you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to finish your education. Please contact me in order to arrange for your arrival and to receive further instructions. Yours sincerely, Pomona Sprout, Deputy Headmistress."


	10. If This Is the First Time

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
If This Is the First Time**

* * *

Tisha entered the classroom with an exciting feeling of anticipation. It was her first lesson - Monday at one o'clock - and there were third-years awaiting their first Muggle Studies lesson in there, probably as thrilled as her.

At the sight of their faces, however, she had to admit they didn't seem thrilled. Not all of them, at the very least. Maybe... maybe one of them was actually looking forward to learning something about Muggles.

There were seven boys and four girls in the class. The boys, with only one exception, were looking as if there was nothing less interesting in the world than the subject they had elected to study. The girls were sitting as close as possible, had been whispering just before Tisha entered the classroom from her office and had hard time suppressing chuckling.

Tisha chose to ignore that.

"Hello, class. My name is Laeticia Malfoy and I will teach you Muggle Studies. Let's take the roll call first, so I will know your names." The students followed the routine obediently and Tisha grew more confident. She put the parchment aside and perched on her desk facing the students.

"Now, let's start with what you already know," she said. The students looked at each other helplessly. "What do you know about Muggles? Anything, I don't expect an essay from you, just few tidbits," Tisha continued, trying to sound encouragingly. Finally one of the boys raised a hand. Tisha glanced at the parchment, not wanting to embarass herself by mixing up her students.

"Yes... erm, Mr. Smith?"

"They can't do magic," the boy answered.

"Excellent - Muggles can't perform magic!" Tisha stood up and scribbled big MUGGLES on the blackboard, then put a "can't do magic" as the first point. "Anything else?"

"They are stupid!" another boy cried. Tisha put it on the blackboard, too, but on the right side, not quite under the headline.

"They use ec-le-ci-ty," a girl with big blue eyes added.

"Electricity, yes," Tisha corrected her and put it in the left column.

"They are evil" and "die young" were put under stupid, while "wear funny clothes" and "take forever to get anywhere" were added in the left column.

"Is that all? Okay." Tisha drew a line between the two columns. "The things I put on the left are true, or at least not completely incorrect. On the right, we get the most common myths about Muggles. Muggles can't perform magic, which is the most important difference between them and wizards. The fact that they don't dress like wizards comes from the seclusion between the wizarding and Muggle worlds. They can't Apparate, obviously, and don't use the Floo System, so travelling the Muggle way takes longer. And they use a technology different from magic, of which electricity is an example."

Tisha looked at the children. Most of them were interested now, which pleased her, and she smiled before she went on:

"The myth about stupid Muggles comes mostly from misunderstanding of the wizarding people. Muggles use different tools based on different technology and their daily routine is different from ours. They don't know about our world, but that is because the Ministry of Magic makes sure they don't learn, using magical means Muggles can neither detect nor deflect. Their intelligence isn't affected, but their logic and knowledge is strange to wizards."

"This is rubbish," one of the boys interrupted her. He had crossed his arms on his chest and watched Tisha with an expression of utter disgust.

"Mr. Forsythe," Tisha said slowly, "I hope you realise this class is an optional. You can choose to attend it or you can choose to drop it, however, if you decide to be here, you will pay attention to what I say, you won't interrupt me without a very, very good reason, and you won't argue with me unless you have a proof I am wrong. Do you have a proof I am wrong?" Forsythe didn't seem to be impressed by Tisha's speech, but he didn't seem to have any argument, either.

"My dad says all Muggles are stupid," he answered after a while.

"Could it be Ignatius Forsythe? How many Muggles does he know? Because when I saw him the last time, he didn't know any." This took the young Forsythe by surprise and he muttered something incoherent, dropping his gaze.

"I have known hundreds of Muggles over the past years. Some of them were, indeed, stupid, but so are some of the wizards I know," Tisha announced. "I have also known a lot of really smart Muggles." One of the girls - Eveline Pincette, Tisha reminded herself - raised her hand, her face one big question mark.

"Are Muggles smarter than wizards?" she asked eagerly.

"No, not as a rule," Tisha answered. "As far as I can tell, with the exception of the magical abilities, Muggles are about as smart and gifted as wizards." The class accepted it without a struggle, although Forsythe seemed to be sceptical. Tisha could already see him running to the owlery, sending a letter to his father about the new teacher. There was nothing she could do about it at the time, and if Ignatius turned out to be as much of a berk he had seemed to be all those years ago and complained, Tisha was confident the Headmistress would back her up.

"So Muggles aren't evil?" Pincette asked.

"Not all of them. It's just the same as with wizards - there are a few really good and a few really evil, but most are somewhere in between."

"But they do die young!" Smith said. Everyone turned to him and he grew red. "I mean, I know from my uncle who works in research they don't live long."

"They die younger than wizards, true. The average Muggle man lives sixty-eight to seventy years and the average woman about two to three years longer. There are, of course, those who live longer than that, but it's very rarely more than one hundred years. They are also more vulnerable than wizards, because they lack the protection one's magic can provide. But they don't regard dying after sixty as dying young, and in fact, you would hardly call someone over sixty young yourselves," Tisha explained, betting that at the age of thirteen, they would most probably see anybody over twenty as already half-way into their graves.

After a short period of silence, a hand waved in the air.

"Miss Pincette?"

"How come they don't know about us? When we go to the Diagon Alley, they are everywhere on the street, but they never enter the pub. I mean, they never even try!" She looked genuinely puzzled.

"Wizards can not only perform magic, but also sense it. Muggles can't. They can be affected by it, though. That means it's possible to jinx or hex a Muggle, and unless the charm has a visible result, the Muggle wouldn't even know. Of course, such things are strictly illegal," she added in a stern voice. The grins that had appeared at the words jinx or hex faded.

"I once saw a hexed box in the street," Samuel Smith blurted out. "All the Muggles would come and throw something in it and they would get stung. The Ministry people came then to fix it."

"Yes, that's an example of an illegal action," Tisha nodded.

"But one of the Muggles wouldn't touch the box," Smith continued. "She was walking around and watching it with a funny expression. I heard her saying to other Muggles the box was evil." All faces turned to Tisha, expecting an explanation, and although Forsythe pretended to be bored, he listened quietly.

"There are Muggles who have a little talent. This is because of the dual quality of magical talent." She had supposed the basic theory was a part of the first year curriculum, but guessing by their confusion, they didn't have a clue. "The magical talent consists of two parts - the ability to sense magic and the ability to perform magic. In order to develop, both parts have to be present. Some Muggles have one of the abilities, but it is not developped, so they can't train it or use it. For example, if a Muggle has the ability to sense magic, he or she feels strange around cursed objects and places. They can't analyse the feeling, but they can interpret it as a threat. If they have the ability to perform magic, they can make things fly around when they get upset or something similar, but again, they can't control such outbursts of magic at all."

"And if they have both abilities, they can make things fly and they feel bad about it," Forsythe said in a bored voice.

"Wrong." He looked at her and didn't say anything. "If they have both abilities, they are wizards."

"Or witches," Pincette piped in and Tisha beamed at her.

"Or witches," she agreed.

* * *

When Hermione and Draco met Neville at the Hogwarts gate, it was windy and slightly drizzling. All of them had their trunks floating behind them as they set off for the castle.

"I didn't know you had your licence yet, Draco," Neville muttered.

"I don't," Draco shrugged. "Are you going to tell on me?" Neville grinned at that. Although Draco usually claimed he hadn't done anything useful for the Order during the war, his skills at Apparition and even Side-Along Apparition had been put to good use more than once. Neville remembered the one occassion when Draco had saved his life by transporting him to safety, and pointing out to the Ministry that Draco was Apparating without a licence was the last thing on Neville's mind.

Especially since the main reason Draco still didn't have the licence was someone from the Ministry making sure he would always be too busy to attend the examinations.

"Look, there's Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly. Neville frowned. The last time Hagrid had met Draco, he tried to kill him, and although it had been months since that day, there was still a chance Hagrid would let his hurt take over. Draco visibly paled. He hadn't forgotten the incident either. But then, it was hard to forget a half-giant picking you up and shaking your body in the air, Neville mused as he allowed Draco to move slightly behind him.

Hagrid looked up from whatever he had been doing and waved at them. He closed something on the ground - no doubt a cage or a box with a dangerous magical creature - and walked over to greet them.

"Hullo, Hermione. Neville," Hagrid greeted them amicably. His eyes flashed a little as he saw Draco, but he didn't say anything.

"Hello, Hagrid, how are you?" Hermione asked.

"Fine, thanks." Hagrid fixed his gaze on Draco, who mumbled a quiet greeting.

"Do you still teach Care of Magical Creatures?" Neville asked before Hagrid could say something harsh.

"No, Professor McGonagall wanted me ter take care of the forest. There's sommat left in there." Hagrid looked happy about his task.

"Well - I hope you won't miss teaching," Hermione said.

"Ah, I'll have lessons fer children who'll wan' ter see somethin' interestin' time ter time," Hagrid answered with a content smile. "Jus' not the regular lessons. Professor McGonagall says I'll have enough ter do in the forest." Hagrid waved his big hand in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest and his face adopted an excited expression.

"Well, we should be going - Professor Sprout wants to see us at half past one," Neville said. The rain grew thicker. They parted and as the weather changed abruptly from unpleasant to terrible, Hermione, Neville and Draco broke into a run. Despite that, they reached the front door completely drenched.

"What are the three of you doing here, getting mud on everything?" a hostile and very familiar voice said. Neville and Draco exchanged exasperated looks. Their shoes had got wet and muddy, but to call it getting mud on everything - they had barely stepped into the Entrance Hall!

"We're sorry, Mr. Filch," Hermione was saying as politely as possible. "We would clean ourselves right away, of course, only if I recall correctly, magic is not allowed in the corridors." And she smiled. Filch turned a violent shade of red.

"You'll scrub it the good old way, you!" he shouted.

"Of course, Mr. Filch," Hermione replied. "Just let me get to the nearest toilet to get a bucket and some water - it's the one on the first floor, isn't it? Only, we will probably get more mud on the floor - but if it has to be, it has to be."

In all his years at Hogwarts, Filch had met a very few students who would stand up to him, but he had never met any who would do so by agreeing with him. He was wordlessly staring at Hermione until a rush of sapphires made him turn to the hourglasses.

"Some Ravenclaw got lucky," Filch mumbled disapprovingly, as if gaining a few points for one's house was something dirty. He then headed for his office, all the way muttering something.

As soon as a distant sound of a door being closed indicated Filch had reached his destination, Draco and Neville burst out laughing.

"That was... that was..." Neville stammered, flailing his arms to indicate _what_ it had been.

"Hermione, you're not the best witch in the year," Draco managed finally. "You're best of them all!"

"Oh, well, um... where is Professor Sprout's office? Do you know?" Hermione asked to cover her embarassment. She had grown slightly pink and she looked very pretty all of sudden, Neville realised.

"It's on the first floor, where McGonagall's office used to be," Draco said. "Good think I asked, eh?"

"I knew there was something we wanted you for," Hermione agreed. She led the way and they stopped before the door after a short walk through the nearly deserted corridors. They hesitated, each wishing someone else would knock, unsure for no reason they could name.

In the end, at half past one sharp, Hermione knocked at the door.

* * *

**A/N:** I derived this little theory of two parts of magical talent from what I know about genetics and from what I know about the magic in HP universe. JKR claims that the "magical gene" is dominant. That explains the existence of Squibs (both parents have only one "magical gen") aside from natural mutation (which is rare compared to the number of Squibs in population), but makes existence of Muggleborn siblings such as the Creevey brothers improbable (a Muggleborn wizard/witch can only be a result of a certain mutation). The combination of two genes, however, explains everything - it is possible to pass a non-magical genes set even if the parent has a magical genes set (note, everyone has two sets of DNA information, and for dominant genes, just one appearance is enough) and at the same time, it is possible to have magical genes of only one type (therefore undevelopped) and meet a partner with the other magical genes (again undevelopped), reaching nearly 100 possibility of having a magically gifted children.  
There are more ways to explain this (and most of them would be most likely more ellegant then mine). Read Whitehound's review to this chapter if you want to learn more and need to start somewhere.  
Well, if you understand genetics, you probably already know better than I explain; if you don't, I'm afraid I've forgotten too much to give a detailed explanation, especially in English. 


	11. Speak Your Mind

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Speak Your Mind**

* * *

"I didn't expect you to bring your luggage," Professor McGonagall said with a raised eyebrow. "Are you so eager to get back to school?" Hermione's face lit up, Draco shyly smiled and Neville said: "Um, yes?" in a voice that made Sprout snigger.

"We decided to start as early as possible," Sprout explained when she composed herself.

"We weren't in middle of anything or so," Neville added. "There was really no point in waiting." The discussion had gone in a friendly atmosphere, if a bit slowly, for about fifteen minutes until Professor McGonagall had arrived. She had changed the mood into a tense, nervous one, although it had hardly been her aim.

"Of course," McGonagall nodded. She had dark circles under her eyes and tense lines around the mouth and Neville wondered whether doing both her deputy's work and her own had really taken it out of her as Severus had claimed. He hadn't thought that possible until he had seen her.

"I thought it would be wise not to put you back in your houses." The unsaid _especially for Mr. Malfoy_ hung in the air. There were still Slytherins faithful to Voldemort, and in spite of the fact the Death Eaters' circles had been more exposed than after the first war, some of them were walking free. "You are older than the rest of the students and you have experience they wouldn't understand."

"You will have your own common room," Sprout continued. "Smaller, of course, but you should have the privacy you deserve."

"And I will arrange for a table just for you. I imagine you would prefer to stay together after the war." They accepted that without argument. Neither Hermione nor Draco had thought of that before, but the very idea of being parted after the last few months seemed absurd and horrid.

"It has also been decided you would recieve tutoring rather than joining the current seventh years," McGonagall continued. "In some subjects, such as Defense Against the Dark Arts, you have already covered most of the syllabus, while in more academic fields you could use some extra practice to renew your knowledge."

"We all understand you had other things on your mind than housekeeping charms or advanced potting techniques," Sprout supplied amicably. Neville felt ashamed. He was sure he had forgotten a lot about _basic_ potting techniques.

McGonagall clasped her hands behind her back and cleared her throat. The tension in her shoulders became visible to Hermione and Draco and they looked at each other with a silent question. Neville whispered "I know," while barely moving his lips.

"You will be required to follow the school rules." McGonagall measured them with a hard stare and they all felt eleven years old again. "You will be, however, allowed to visit Hogsmeade any day provided you'll be back in your common room before midnight."

"Just don't show off before younger students," Sprout murmured.

"We won't," Hermione promised. Draco's shoulders seemed to sag and both McGonagall and Hermione shot him a dark glare.

"Well, that's all. If you have any trouble, come to me or Professor Sprout and we will deal with it." McGonagall greeted them with a sharp nod and left.

"If there are no more questions, I'll show you your common room," Sprout said warmly.

* * *

If there was anything Severus Snape really feared, it was the first Gryffindor-Slytherin lesson of the first-years. The Hufflepuffs were hard-working and mostly quiet and the Ravenclaws sometimes managed to comprehend the beauty of potion-making, but the mixture of little lions and serpents was rarely safe and always explosive.

It wasn't because they would be without talent. Some Slytherins became more than adequate brewers before the end of their fifth years and even a few Gryffindors showed some kind of intelligence... sometimes... but they always started a battle of the ancient War of Houses in his class.

The Gryffindors were, of course, to blame for that. No Slytherin would be so stupid to start a battle in front of their Head of House, and then, Slytherins didn't start battles - they made someone else start them instead. Besides, if the Gryffindors weren't so eager and stupid - and they could call it courageous all they wanted - there would be no anxiety between the houses at all.

To add to the pleasanteries of that school year, the first first-years Gryffindor-Slytherin Potions lesson fell to Monday afternoon.

What a mutton-headed dolt could have ruined the beginning of the week like that?

So with a cold feeling in his stomach Snape entered the classroom. The soft murmur that had filled it when the students had entered ended abruptly. He looked around the little faces. Some of them were watching him eagerly - the experience had taught him they were looking forward to causing trouble.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began and felt warmth returning into his innards. The routine worked, as ever: he could do this. He had kept all his students alive through the lessons so far, and he would continue to do so. They would require his attention, they would keep him on his toes, but they would hardly give him more trouble than he could handle. And before long, they would learn not to mess up with him.

And perhaps they would learn to brew a few potions as well.

He finished his welcoming speech and continued to read the register, writing each face along the name in his memory. They weren't that bad, he ensured himself. Not all of them. There were, however, two boys who had been exchanging desperate looks since the beginning of the lesson, and Snape rounded on them with a set of questions they had a nearly non-existent chance to answer.

A little boy in the back of the classroom, Robert Brocks, a Gryffindor, shot his hand up after the first question was posed, and kept it raising every time Snape's pair of victims mumbled embarassed "don't know, sir".

_Another Granger._

To think there was an annoying memorising know-it-all in the school was painful. To _know_ there was one was a torture. But to know there were two of them - and _she_ wouldn't decline an invitation to Hogwarts before the hell froze - that was beyond any description and any suffering.

But maybe the boy just wanted to ask about something? Or he might be sick - a small, yet not no possibility. And at the very least, he remained sitting on his chair...

"Mr. Brocks?" Snape inquired carefully.

"A bezoar can be found in a goat's stomach." A correct answer, and Snape admitted it curtly, turning away from the boy to supply answers to his previous questions as well, when Brocks' hand shot in the air once again.

"Yes, Mr. Brocks?" Snape decided to deal with it right away, whatever it might be.

"Why does it have to be a goat and not a sheep or a llama or a camel?" The curiosity in the big eyes was painfully sincere and Snape found himself trying to compose a short, but truthful answer. That was a nonsense on its own. The reasons behind different magical effects of seemingly similar or even related objects were too complicated to be explained in a few sentences. He didn't have enough time even if he wanted to try, and there was a little chance an eleven year old boy would understand it anyway.

"Because goats are different from sheep," Snape summarised the problem. The boy opened his mouth, probably to ask another question, but Snape continued: "You will learn more about it later." It didn't fully satisfy the boy, but it stopped him from voicing another questions, and for the time being, it satisfied Snape.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of the Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, a Gryffindor and a war heroine, was seated in her chair at her desk in her office, a glass of brandy in one hand, her wand in the other, and a pile of parchments on the desk.

She was watching them warily. They were just too many - they had to multiply when she wasn't looking or something.

"I'm afraid they are not going to sort themselves out on their own, although I'm sure some of them don't really require any attention." When Minerva looked up, Dumbledore's eyes were closed. She frowned, but reached for the nearest parchment, scanning it. She kept working for an hour and the pile nearly disappeared.

So did the brandy from her glass.

She pushed both the rest of the parchments and the empty glass away and got up.

"Albus," she said firmly when she stood before the painting. He opened one eye, lightly smiling.

"Yes, Minerva?" he prompted after a while.

"I... I just..." She sighed and looked away.

"I know it seems hard now," Dumbledore soothed quietly. "But it didn't seem different to me the first year I was a Headmaster, and the last year really wasn't a regular one. You will get used to it all, and it will become a matter of routine, you'll see."

"I miss you," Minerva mumbled.

"You knew it was inevitable, one day, one way or another. You'll..."

"You don't understand," Minerva interrupted him and looked up. "I miss _you._ Not the headmaster, not the greatest wizard of our age," she continued, raising her voice more and more, and red spots appeared on her cheeks. "I miss you, Albus - you, as a man." She spun and walked briskly out of her office, the paintings of former headmasters and headmistresses quietly pretending they hadn't witnessed anything personal.

Dumbledore shifted uneasily in his painted armchair. He was more than sure there had been tears in Minerva's eyes, and for the first time ever he realised he hadn't sacrificed merely his own life during the dreadful minutes on the Astronomy Tower.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope I managed to make the plot move visibly in this one. Have you noticed? (Yes, it's a variation of "please, review". I wanted to be more eloquent. Besides, the feedback keeps me on the track.)  
The "mutton-headed dolt" comes from My Fair Lady, a musical I like. And I quote Joanne Rowling's Philosopher Stone, of course. :) 


	12. Veterans

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Veterans**

* * *

Their private common room was a cosy place, lightly furnished and decently coloured. There were two desks in there, each long enough to host two of them, three comfortable armchairs before a fireplace, a soft beige rug on the floor, a row of even windows overlooking the Hogwarts' greenhouses, and two simple doors on opposing sides of it, each leading to a small bedroom.

"Good," Neville remarked while placing his shrivelfigs on the windowsill in the boys' shared bedroom. "No stairs there. I call it an improvement."

"You should have been a Slytherin, then," Draco responded from his bed. He had laid down on it the moment he had seen his luggage at the bedpost. "No stairs to dormitories, either."

"Is it closer to the Great Hall as well?" Neville asked. He had taken liking to the place immediately, not missing the violate red colouring at all. He would have liked the Slytherin colouring, he thought.

"Hard to tell. Probably not, but then, it's a maze down there. I won't miss that at all. I must have got lost at least thousand times before I learned how to find my own common room." Draco sat up and inspected Neville's little windowsill garden. "But there are no windows down there," he continued.

"Terrible place," Neville shrugged. "Let's see what's Hermione doing." They peeked into the common room and found Hermione's door standing ajar. They looked at each other - there was always a possibility they were banned from the "girls' dormitories" and neither of them wanted to find out how the ban was ensured. They stopped worrying about the possible ban when they heard a sharp intake of breath from Hermione's room and burst in, wands in hands. Hermione was standing next to her bed with a palm pressed against her mouth. The boys hid their wands as they saw the palm in question belonged to Hermione.

"What happened?" Neville asked.

"Nothing. I'm fine," Hermione replied hastily. She stepped closer to her bed and started folding something lying on it.

"What's that?" Draco queried curiously. It seemed to be a blanket of some kind, only it was made of several different cloths.

"Is that the patchwork we made before Christmas?" Neville said and reached for it.

"Yes, I... I forgot about it. I don't know how it got in my trunk." Hermione let go of the patchwork and closed her trunk. "Hey, it's nearly dinnertime, I'll wait for you in the Great Hall." And she fled from the room. Draco moved to follow her, but Neville grabbed his arm.

"She misses Crookshank," he explained. "Give her a minute."

"Oh," was all Draco managed to say. He picked up the patchwork and studied it. "Isn't this from the skirt Luna Lovegood used to wear? The one everyone laughed at?"

"I liked it," Neville said stiffly.

"And this can only be a part of the famous dress robes of Ronald Weasley. And I think I saw Harry wearing..."

"Draco," Neville said pointedly. Draco looked up from the patchwork, eyes wide. It struck him the small blanket held too much memories for Neville and Hermione, which had been what had startled Hermione in the first place. He mumbled a quiet apology, dropped the patchwork and looked out of the window to cover his embarassment. "I think Hagrid's breeding something," he said after a while, pointing at a large building that had appeared in distance, but still on the Hogwarts' grounds. After hesitating for a minute, Neville looked over his shoulder.

"Nice. Big enough to keep a dragon."

"Are you trying to scare me out of here?"

"Me?" Neville tried for a completely and utterly innocent look, but by the short laughter the expression caused Draco make, he was unsuccessful.

"Not all of us are brave Gryffindors, you know." Now it was Neville's turn to laugh.

"You mean stupid by that, don't you?" he asked, feigning being insulted.

"Me? Never!" They ended up nearly rolling on the floor laughing, literally.

"Okay - okay," Neville gasped between fits of laughter. "Maybe we shouldn't let Hermione wait too long. She doesn't take it well, remember the Yule Ball incident?"

"No, I don't. Not all of us are stupid Gryffindors, you - ow! That hurt!" But Neville was already at the door.

* * *

"... inept, inadequate, infuriating..."

"Have you been reading a dictionary?" Tisha asked sweetly to interupt the angry muttering Snape had been consumed in ever since she had entered the teachers' lounge five minutes ago.

"... students," Snape finished with a malevolent glitter in his eyes. Tisha smiled.

"They are just children," she remarked while trying to get an old coffee machine to work.

"They are careless, inattentive, cheeky, inept..."

"... inadequate, infuriating... As if you were - well, I guess you _were_ different," Tisha said with a long inspective look at Snape. "Ow!" She awarded the coffee machine a disgusted glance.

"What exactly are you trying to do?" Snape asked.

"To get a cup of coffee!"

"Nothing easier," Snape replied silkily, waved his wand and filled Tisha's cup with a brown steaming liquid. Seeing the superlicious smile made Tisha only feel worse, and she pushed the cup away and tapped the floor with her shoe.

"Yes, miss?" came the immediate reply.

"Dobby, would you please get me a cup of coffee?" The change of Snape's expression, however short it was, lifted Tisha's spirit.

"Yes, miss! Dobby makes the best coffee, miss!" Dobby bounced up and down with excitement before popping away, presumably to the kitchen. Snape curled his lip and turned to borrow a copy of Daily Prophet from the table. He quickly scanned the headlines and left the teachers' lounge before Tisha finished her cup of coffee.

Tisha left the empty cup on the table and turned to the exit herself. Her own cup caught her eye. She picked it up carefully and sniffed at it.

It smelled like coffee. And it was still hot.

* * *

The boys found Hermione sitting at a small table near the long wall opposing the staff table. To their suprise, she was petting a snow-white owl.

"Hedwig?" Neville exclaimed. She made a soft chittering sound to greet him.

"She flew to me when I sat down," Hermione said. "I think - I think she had come here to look for Harry." Hedwig had disappeared shortly after Harry's death. They had expected her to come back to Hermione, as she had known her to be Harry's friend, once she had realised Harry couldn't be found anymore.

Apparently, the owl had decided she had become unserviceable rather than admitting her master had become unreachable. She must have given up her task, judging by the affectionate way in which she accepted Hermione's ministrations.

The food appeared on their plates and Neville joined in the reunion through feeding Hedwig an odd piece of meat every minute or so, while Draco chose to watch the rest of the students instead. Hedwig had treated him as a dangerous and evil being last time he had come to her vicinity. By keeping his eyes averted, he had learned, he could stop her from lashing out at him.

Their table stood in the middle of the long wall and through the gap between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables the staff table could be seen. He recognised most of the teachers - Professor - correction - Headmistress McGonagall in the middle, with Professor Sprout at her right hand and Professor Vector, presumably the new Head of the Gryffindor House, further down the table. Professors Moody, Grubbly-Plank and Hooch were discussing vividly next to an empty place usually reserved for Hagrid. Draco felt a wave of nausea washing over him and had to remind himself this wasn't the same Moody who had transfigured him in a ferret four years ago.

On the other hand, the rest of the staff hadn't got the least bit suspicious over the incident, so transfiguring a troublesome Slytherin was very probably in Moody's character, wasn't it?

Next to Flitwick on McGonagall's left, Snape had just taken his seat. Draco studied him from the relative safety of distance. He had believed he could read that face - up until the day when he had learned Snape had lied not only to him and his parents, but also to the Dark Lord - successfully. The only thing he had learned since then about Snape was never to believe the first impression again.

There was a vacant seat next to Snape. Draco recognised Professors Sinistra and Babbling and assumed either the new Muggle Studies or Transfiguration professor was running late for dinner. Either that, or the unknown one had decided to eat quickly enough to evade Snape's company.

"Hermione, do you happen to know who's going to teach Transfiguration?" he queried, eyes still fixed on the staff table.

"Professor McGonagall," she replied. "Good think I asked, eh?" she added with a smirk. Draco glanced at her and couldn't help smiling. It seemed the smirk just didn't work properly on her face, making her look nice instead of smug.

"And Muggle Studies?" he challenged, overcoming memories that threatened to spoil his mood. Hermione frowned a little and shrugged, a certain sign she didn't know.

"Your aunt," Neville answered instead. Draco turned back to the staff table, and sure enough, before his shocked eyes, Tisha was sitting down next to Snape.

"But she's a Squib!"

"You sound very much like Severus right now," Neville remarked, putting down his cutlery and dedicating all his attention to Draco, as if the Slytherin was giving a particularly amusing show.

"Me? Never," Draco muttered and watched in amazement that his aunt had started a conversation with Snape... a conversation that didn't end immediately.

* * *

"You know, I was quite surprised to discover you can make coffee."

"I am a Potions Master - did you expect me to fail such an easy task?" Snape growled. Tisha chuckled.

"From all I remember from Lucius' attempts, potions smell horribly and are mostly indigestible or poisonous."

"It would be more accurate to say his attempts were indigestible and smelled horribly," Snape retorted. Tisha shot a glance sideways, hardly containing laughter.

"If you say so," she said finally. Snape didn't answer to that, unpleasantly touched by the laughter. He hadn't said so much, and althought Lucius had been Tisha's brother, they had never got along well anyway, had they? Besides, he had been right - Lucius hadn't been able to brew a chamomille tea. _Instant._

After a short period of silence, which grew heavily uncomfortable, Tisha looked directly at Snape. He tried to scowl her into giving up her scrutinising him. She refused to be intimidated.

"You are such a riddle sometimes," she observed after a minute. To her surprise, Snape pushed his plate away abruptly, got up and left the Great Hall without another word.

No-one else seemed to notice, or at least the student body continued humming happily over the tables. Tisha scanned the Hall. Nothing out of...

Her eyebrows rose at the sight of her nephew sitting at a small table that hadn't been there during lunchtime. Draco toasted her silently with his goblet. She recognised the other young man at the table - Longbottom - who was frowning at her. And in the seat nearest the wall, next to Longbottom, there was a girl, too, who smiled at Tisha. The boys turned to the girl and started talking at once, undoubtlessly exchanging what little they knew about her.

Between an angry Snape and the companions of her nephew, Tisha chose the latter. She decided to wait until the trio left, but as the Great Hall grew emptier every minute, she changed her mind. Before long they were the last ones still sitting at the tables. Tisha rose and crossed the floor. Her steps echoed strangely and the journey seemed to take longer than it should have. Just as she was nearing the small table, something jumped up from the floor.

"Wheeesh!" a high, unpleasant voice shrieked. Tisha screamed. The bright cloud before her took a form of a laughing man, hanging in mid-air. He tumbled over several times, pointing at Tisha whenever he faced her.

"Ah-ha ha haaa, did you see that, did you see that?" he was screeching happilly.

"Peeves!" the girl from the table shouted angrily and jumped to her feet. "Get lost!"

"Ickle Squibby got all scared..."

"I am neither ickle nor scared!" Tisha exclaimed, having quickly recovered from surprise.

"... she should rather..."

"Waddiwasi!" the girl cried. She had drawn her wand and was pointing at Peeves firmly. Something Tisha didn't recognise hit Peeves and he tumbled once again, this time unwillignly, and hastily retreated, all the way cursing. Draco muttered, "Best of them all, I say," and the girl's cheeks turned pink at hearing that.

"Oh - thanks," Tisha said. "He must still remember me." Neville paled.

"You mean he has bothered you already? I thought Severus would get sensible enough to actually..."

"He bothered me more than twenty years ago," Tisha interrupted him. "Severus got sensible yesterday morning and devoted a few hours of his precious time to show me around the castle." Neville blushed.

"You were at Hogwarts twenty years ago?" Draco blurted out in surprise, while Neville mumbled, "Oh... fine." They looked at each other.

"Professor Dumbledore invited me to take OWLs when I was fifteen," Tisha explained. "Lucius called it a disgrace of wizarding education. But he, of course, found a lot of great things disgraceful." She moved to the last free seat at the table and looked at them.

"Have a seat, Professor," Neville said politely. "Would you like some pumpkin juice?" Tisha sat down and accepted a goblet filled with the sweet liquid.

"What subjects did you take?" Draco asked curiously. Hedwig, who had left Hermione's shoulder and perched on the table instead, nudged his hand with her beak. It didn't hurt and Draco just fed her a strap of beacon.

"Muggle Studies, History, and Herbology. I failed Herbology - Mum was really disappointed. She had hoped I would inherit her interest in plants."

"Oh - so I can't impress you with my collection of non-green leaves!" Neville exclaimed with a feigned disappointment. Hedwig hopped to him and hooted. He gave her a piece of meat.

"No, not really," Tisha laughed. "What are the three of you doing here?" she asked to fill the silence that fell upon them.

"We're students," Draco said. "A special seventh year - see?" He pointed at a brass plaque above the table. It read "Veterans". Hedwig hit the back of Draco's hand with her beak, and Draco drew both his hands in his lap, eyeing the owl accusingly.

"Huh. Sounds like a place for someone really old," Tisha remarked.

"We were thinking something like _Nursery_ would be more appropriate," Neville agreed. Hedwig hooted angrily and jumped at his hand. Neville quickly pushed her away. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded.

Hermione tapped her shoulder to invite the owl back to her previous perch. Hedwig accepted, measuring both the boys with reproachful looks.

"I think she wants the two of you to remember you manners." Hermione and Tisha exchanges amused looks.

"I did keep all my food in my plate!" Draco protested wildly.

"I didn't say anything rude!" Neville exclaimed at the same moment.

"A nursery, definitely," Tisha mumbled.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione extended a hand towards Tisha.

"Tisha Malfoy."

"I guess you've met Neville, Professor," Hermione said after they shook hands.

"Just call me Tisha, all of you. And yes, we met yesterday."

"How did you get out of the dungeons, Prof... Tisha?" Neville blushed again. "Actually, as I take Muggle Studies..."

"Oh." Tisha frowned. "Outside of class?" she asked. "I tried to find my way, got lost and called Dobby for help."

"Where do you know Dobby from?" Neville yelped.

"What's Dobby doing here?" Draco squealed. Hedwig snorted and for a while, her little frame was shaking.

"Is she really laughing?" Neville asked.

"At us?" Draco added.

"As far as I know, Dobby worked for the Malfoys before Harry tricked Mr. Malfoy into giving him a sock," Hermione said. "And he came here afterwards." Tisha was suprised at hearing about Dobby working for the family. The pureblood wizards usually referred to house-elves as to their belongings. The more reasonable - or human - wizards would call them slaves, as they had no rights, no freedom, and of course no wages.

"He's been here for four years?" Draco seemed to be horrified. Neville chuckled. "What?" Not only Neville didn't stop sniggering, but Hedwig joined him, hooting with mirth. "Maybe we should change that," Draco pointed at the plaque again, "to Clown And His Audience or something!"

"Of course, Your Clownity!" Neville cried before bursting into laughter.

"Well, I could certainly change that to The United Circus of Hogwarts," Hermione offered while drawing her wand again.

"You wouldn't dare!" Draco said.

"You wouldn't _manage,_" Neville challenged. Hermione gripped the wand tigher and looked him in the eye.

"Alte..."

"No! Nonono, you would manage!" Neville blurted out and waved both arms before the plaque as if trying to protect it. Hermione hid her wand. "I admit you would manage whatever piece of Transfiguration you try, just don't make it say anything like circus or clowns or such," he added hastily. "Please!" He pulled a pitiable, pathetic face and Draco turned away from him, laughing. Tisha sighed and made an elegant gesture.

"I bid thee good night, gentlemen. It's well past the nursery curfew." That made Neville start laughing as well.

"Sorry - it's just... just..." Neville shook his head. "Good to be back here. Like... before." Tisha couldn't feel the weight of the word herself, but she felt the change of mood. There was no laughter suddenly and the three young people - nearly children - seemed much older.

Veterans, indeed.

"I really should be going," Tisha said into the heavy silence. "I need to get ready for tomorrow classes." She stood up, and so did both the boys.

"Go ahead," Hermione encouraged them from her seat. "I'll finish my juice." She toasted them with her goblet and wryly smiled.

They left the Great Hall and Neville excused himself before taking the stairs down to the dungeons. Draco accompanied Tisha to her office. He wanted to talk to her, yet didn't know how to start, and they parted without having said more than a "good-night".

About half an hour later, Nearly Headless Nick entered the Great Hall through the wall behind the staff table to find one lone figure sitting at the Gryffindor table. The student was sitting with their face in hands and their shoulders were shaking, so Nick drifted closer to offer what comfort a house ghost can offer. But he recognised Hermione from the end of the table and changed his mind, leaving her to cry her tears in solitude she had chosen.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I know it took me long to update, and I apologise for it. I got stuck and couldn't finish it for the life of me, so I dedicated myself to another stuff (like my job and such) for a while. Well, it worked (although I think the ending of the chapter is a bit lame), and I'll try to add another before the end of the week.


	13. Midnight

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Midnight**

* * *

The light knock on the door caught Snape by surprise, although he probably should have foreseen it. Few things stopped Neville from dropping by when it was the least convenient, and Snape certainly wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. And he had hoped, when Neville failed to show up within ten minutes after Snape's abrupt departure from the Great Hall...

Neville knocked again, more loudly this time, and Snape growled. He sat down in his armchair.

"Come in!" he barked, reaching for a book, as if he had been reading all the time. Which he hadn't. He had been tidying up, using the physical activity as a distraction from thinking.

Neville didn't sit down when he entered, neither he reached for a glass. He leaned against a wall next to the fireplace and started watching Snape intently - so intently that Snape found it impossible to concentrate on the book.

"You've read that book already," Neville called his bluff finally. Snape looked up, sneering. Neville crossed his arms. "I don't know what she said to you, but I'm more than sure she didn't mean to offend you," Neville continued. Never the one to beat around the bush, this little Longbottom boy.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snarled venomously. "I am not offended. Least by that Squib." He hid his face in the book and realised that not only he had indeed read the book a week ago, he had found it rubbish then and only kept it as an experimental ingredience. He closed the book and threw it on the table.

"So you've been cleaning the room just for fun," Neville retorted calmly. "And don't try to tell me you haven't been tidying, I can tell the difference. The house elves never touch your books and jars." Snape just snorted at that.

Neville moved away from his observatory spot, got a glass and filled it with whiskey.

"Students aren't allowed alcohol, Mr. Longbottom," Snape said casually. "As you surely know." He added a stern, intimidating look, but Neville seemed to be only amused.

"It's for you. And Tisha is a nice woman." Snape accepted the glass and frowned.

"If you say so." The lack of fight piqued Neville's curiosity.

"And that's all? No complaints? Just if you say so?"

"I have discovered that you tend to concoct the most disturbing theories whenever I share my thoughts with you," Snape snapped. The edge in his voice was real and Neville lost the last of his good humour. Something had happened. He bit his lower lip and automatically reached for a glass. He only realised it was empty when he lifted it from the table and gave it a disgusted glare. However, being closely watched by Snape, he pointedly filled it with water.

"I wonder if you could do me a favour," Neville said to change the subject.

"I _could_ do a lot of things," Snape growled.

"Tutor me in Potions this year," Neville clarified. "I want to try the OWLs again."

"Do I look suicidal to you?" When no reply came, Snape turned to look at Neville. "Why should I be willing to put my life at risk like that?"

"Because you're a teacher and I'm a student who has failed his OWLs and wants another go! Actually, I only have to clear this with my Head of House, who is not you, but I wanted to be nice." Neville sighed.

"So you are practically saying I have no choice but to persuade Minerva you have enough schoolwork without Potions." Snape gritted his teeth and Neville mentally kicked himself.

"No. Forget it. Forget I asked." That made Snape raise his eyebrows, but Neville refused to answer a question Snape refused to ask. "So what did Tisha say?" Neville asked instead. It could irk Snape further, but sometimes - just sometimes - it could also make him speak.

"Nothing!" Snape spat, got up and disappeared in his bedroom. Neville shook his head. He'd better ask Tisha tomorrow about this nothing. On top of everything - he'd have to pass the exam, damn it! - maybe Hermione would be willing to help him?

"Longbottom!" ... and he'd get earlashing for something, it seemed. On top of everything.

Snape was standing in the doorframe, watching Neville gloomily. "Come with Granger and Malfoy."

* * *

Minerva was trying to comprehend another of those terrible owls from the Minister - or at least to guess what it was about and whether she could simply throw it away - when a plate with roast mutton landed on top of her paperwork. She looked up.

"Alastor," she started tiredly, but he wouldn't let her finish.

"You didn't eat properly at dinner. And Merlin knows you need your strenght. This," Moody gestured at the parchments, "can wait half an hour." He was right, of course - at least when it came to her not eating properly. She hadn't been eating properly in weeks, and it didn't help her. But how could she know whether the owls could wait, if she hadn't had a look at them?

Moody pushed the plate closer to her, took her right hand and put a fork in her palm.

"Eat," he said firmly. Minerva hadn't felt hungry before, when the smell reached her nostrils, however, her mouth started watering. And roast mutton _was_ her favourite meal...

She should feel ridiculous, being mothered by her subordinate, but the taste of meat triggered her hunger and her body, for the sake of self-preservation, ruled out any emotions or dignity.

She was surprised to see the plate cleared after what seemed to be seconds. She felt sated and sleepy and very, very tired. Moody put the plate out of her sight, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

"And now," he said with an expression that should be shocking or alarming, "to bed."

Minerva's eyelids felt too heavy to be kept open and she herself was too drowsy to argue. She let Moody lead her to the door to her personal rooms. He held her wrists for a moment and again, it felt somewhat disturbing and out of place, but she couldn't care less.

"Good night, Minerva," Moody whispered gently and Minerva went inside and to bed and fell asleep, never noticing anything out of order.

* * *

The corridors of Hogwarts were a maze in the morning, a labyrinth in the afternoon, and a dungeon above ground during nights. Or at least they seemed to be such to a first year lost somewhere in the castle, especially after the curfew. And every step could be a step in the wrong direction, bringing the unfortunate student further from their common room and deeper in the trouble. Mostly, the worst trouble on their way would be Argus Filch, the rude and rough caretaker, sometimes older students could use the situation to make fun of a scared child, and sometimes - even if rarely - the castle itself could hide a real danger.

Elizabeth Jorkins didn't know about the dangers lurking in the dark corridors. She was a quiet, shy girl, used to spend her free time by herself, reading or playing with a doll. She was living with her father, a horse breeder who was a genius among animals, but simple among people, in a small village in Wiltshire. She took longer to make friends, and therefore hadn't yet heard any of the stories about Mr. Filch, Mrs. Norris, the Chamber of Secrets, Death Eaters or any vague horrors of Hogwarts told by the older students. When she saw a pair of yellowish eyes lurking in the dark, she didn't expect any trouble at all, and even felt relieved.

"Kitty, here, kitty!" Elizabeth called and reached out to pet the animal. But the cat drew back and hissed at her.

"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you," Elizabeth soothed. She was very good with animals - a talent she had inherited from her father - and usually managed to befriend anything in less than five minutes. She turned her palm towards the animal to show it she wasn't holding anything, and when the cat relaxed, she again reached to it, more slowly this time. But the cat only hissed and bared its teeth, threatening to attack.

"What are you doing here?" someone said very sternly and Elizabeth whirled. There was a tall girl standing behind her. Elizabeth thought she had seen her in the Gryffindor common room, but she wasn't sure and she didn't remember her name anyway.

"I'll take care of that," the girl told the cat and patted her Prefect badge to make sure it was noticed. The cat hissed again, turned away from them and disappeared in the shadows.

"I was reading, got carried away and then lost my way around here," Elizabeth admitted. "Is she one of the professors?" she asked curiously, remembering that McGonagall was supposed to be an Animan... Amima... able to turn into a cat.

"Mrs. Norris?" the prefect sputtered and laughed shortly. "No, she's just a pain in the a... a nuisance. You're a Ravenclaw, right?" she asked Elizabeth and started contemplating the easiest way to the Ravenclaw tower.

"Erm - no," Elizabeth piped, feeling embarassed. "A Gryffindor." The prefect raised one pretty eyebrow and looked at Elizabeth with more attention. She couldn't remember having ever seen this particular first year, and she was famous for her ability to memorise all new Gryffindors before September the first died.

"Well, just come with me, then, er... what was your name again?"

"Elizabeth." And it was for the first time, Elizabeth thought. She felt suddenly extremely lonely and depressed and she didn't once look up when she was following the Gryffindor prefect through one of the corridors, down two flights of stairs, then - miraculously - three flights of stairs back up, althought Elizabeth had been sure they had started at the seventh - the toppest - floor. Soon they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Elizabeth mumbled the password, then a quiet "thank-you" and retreated to the relative safety of her four poster bed in the girls' dormitory.

She had felt more comfortable in the company of the unknown hostile cat.

* * *

The Hogsmeade had grown quiet past midnight, the citizens were mostly at their respective homes getting ready to bed or already sleeping, with few exceptions such as Maximus Thongs, a Healer who worked night shifts at Saint Mungo's, Phillipa Thongs, his wife, and Tom Doobigger, his neighbour, currently pouring more wine into Phillipa's glass and planning on a long night in Mr. and Mrs. Thongs' large bed. But the streets were deserted and mainly dark. Blaise sighed and let the curtain he had been holding back fall in its place.

September the third. At Hogwarts, two days of classes had already passed. For the first time since he had been eleven, Blaise hadn't been there. He hadn't expected it to feel so... strange. He had had two months to grow accustomed to this feeling, but somehow looking for a job and even working had seemed different during summer. To not be at school on September the second made him feel inappropriate. He missed the soft humming of fellow Slytherins in the common room. The house was completely silent.

And althought he had seen Ginny no more than three days ago, he missed her sorely.

He put out the last of the candles and headed for his bedroom. A soft sound from the ground floor startled him. A thief? He had been in charge of the shop for two days and already trouble? The wand slid in his hand before he thought of it and he pressed his back against the nearest wall, peering into the darkness. It might have been a thief - or it might have been one of the Death Eaters that had never been found.

Before he could decide on any action, however, someone whispered a quiet "Lumos!" and a cold light revealed a figure standing under the stairs. A girl with red hair.

Ginny.

"What are you doing here?" Blaise blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I wanted to see you," Ginny replied calmly and started climbing the stairs. Blaise was extremely curious about how she had got out of the castle in the middle of night and in the house - carefully locked for the night - but he didn't dare ask. He didn't dare point out she was breaking the school rules and risked expulsion, either. He didn't dare speak at all. Because a word Ginny didn't like could make her get out of this house and back in the castle without looking back for weeks, and Blaise didn't want her to go. He was still contemplating his situation when Ginny reached the top of the stairs, pecked him and took his hand. And everything felt right.

He had missed her sorely.

* * *

**A/N: **I kind of like to think Hogwarts castle is very complicated and doesn't always provide a way how to travel between two places on the same floor without having to go up and down stairs. I also like to think there are stairs at Hogwarts that "skip" a floor - what fun would it be if you could take any stairs to get a level higher? It may be lame, but I think it cute (and it also explains all JKR's flooring bloopers, and also all of _mine_ bloopers :)).


	14. Feminine Charm

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Feminine Charm**

* * *

Elizabeth thought she would be the first one to get up that morning - the sun was just peeking above the horizon when she quietly descended the stairs to the common room - but there was someone already sitting before the darkened fireplace. A boy with short sandy hair, pale complexion and abnormally large eyes - his name was Brocks, Elizabeth remembered - was reading a book. The book must have been quite a something, because he didn't realise anyone had entered the room until Elizabeth sat down on the same couch he was sitting on.

"Good morning," Elizabeth said, trying to sound pleasant. She wished she could remember the boy's first name, too, but all that sounded in her head was "Mr. Brocks" in that unpleasant voice Snape used, sounding just like "leave me all alone" would. She had felt sorry for the boy then, and she noticed the book he was holding was their Potions textbook.

"Morning," Brocks mumbled. He sat a little more upright and turned a bit away from her. But Elizabeth felt lonely after the last night, and decided to put away her own book - a detective story - and try to draw Brocks into a conversation.

She could find out what his name was, for one, and tell him her own. No doubt he didn't remember her, either - no-one did.

"I thought you finished your essay yesterday, and it's not even due till Thursday," she said with a nod towards his textbook. It was a wild guess, but she believed Brocks to be an eager student, and she was right.

"I'm just trying to learn a bit about the next lesson in advance. Did you know the essence of belladonna could make some poisons just bothersome, not venomous?" Elizabeth hadn't known it.

"I'd like to know which ones," she said and peeked over Brock's shoulder. She couldn't find anything about belladonna at first - then her eye fell on a small paragraph that mentioned the posibility.

"I'd like to know _why,_" Brocks sighed longingly. "I mean, it's a poison itself," he added and blushed a little.

"It's like in Maths - two negatives make a positive," Elizabeth offered.

"But it doesn't work like that - I mean, not always - it says in chapter thirteen the poisons can be mixed to achieve more complicated poisons."

"I haven't somehow skipped two or three months of school, have I?" Elizabeth blurted out in surprise. "We were on chapter one yesterday. What I mean is, I don't have any presents for Christmas yet - I don't even know how to get any here!" She pulled a face and Brocks burst out laughing.

"Look, let's go to breakfast together," he suggested. "I know it's early, but I still have hard time finding the Great Hall, so unless you have a map of this place, we may be just in time."

"A map! Oh, I'd like to see a map of Hogwarts - that would have to be a magical map, of course, and I doubt it would be easy to use, anyway. The castle seems moving half the time."

"Not completely - I think I found a way of navigation. Just look out of the windows, and when you're against that big building, you're at the right stairs that lead all the way down."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. And if we still get lost, at least we'll find a fine view!" It was Elizabeth's turn to laugh, and she only stopped giggling to get her schoolbag from the dormitory.

Miraculously, they only took a wrong turn once, and realised it pretty soon, so they were the first ones to reach the Great Hall that morning. The sky was promising a fine day, with a lot of sunshine, and they cheered to their good luck.

"We should go to meals together more often," Brocks said happilly when they sat down at the table they had proclaimed Gryffindor and their plates and goblets filled. "It's been nice, being with you." Elizabeth only nodded, for her mouth was full, but Brocks seemed to miss that.

"Eh... erm... uh..."

"Elizabeth," she made a second wild guess of the day. She was surprised to see it was the right answer again. "My name is Elizabeth."

"I'm Robert," Brocks introduced himself and offered her a hand. "I think I've never spent so much time with anyone without knowing their name," he added shyly and blushed again.

About ten minutes later, the first of professors arrived. It was a tall lady with bright eyes. They both remembered her from the first night, since she was new to the staff. Robert could supply she taught Muggle Studies, and Elizabeth knew her name was Laetitia Malfoy - she remembered the name because she liked it. Professor Malfoy spotted them at once, and greeted them amicably. Before she sat down, she surveyed the room.

"Aren't the two of you Gryffindors?" she called. They confirmed that. "I'm sure the Gryffindor table is the one on the other side. Yes, this is the Slytherin table - you may want to move to your own before the Slytherins come. They can be quite possesive." They both blushed and, mumbling apologies, moved their plates and goblets to their own table.

They made it just in time.

* * *

Minerva woke up later that she had planned - _had she planned on waking up early? must have, as every morning, only she couldn't remember setting her alarm-clock_ - and felt better than in months. She had slept peacefully and awoke refreshed, and she didn't want to spoil the beautiful morning with paperwork. At least not before the first period - or at least before breakfast.

The Great Hall was already buzzing with students. Funny thing, that, because there were only a dozen of them, but they managed to make enough noise to wake up a mountain, really. The staff table was occupied only by Tisha and the two women exchanged a few friendly words before concentrating on their respective plates.

Minerva had very vague memories about the last night, about how she had got in bed and when. It troubled her a bit. She didn't usually forget and holes in memory might mean having been hexed. But hexes left a sour trace of something out-of-place for a woman with feline insticts, and she couldn't find anything of the sort on herself. She decided to ask Moody to check her afterwards, anyway. And not trouble herself with nonsenses in the beautiful morning. There.

* * *

While the soft breeze never roused Hermione and the first touch of sunshine merely made her turn over, the sound of two boys coming back from the bathroom woke her up. She spent full five minutes sitting on her bed in the dumps, longing for everything lost and gone. But the day didn't turn any worse for her bad mood, and when something heavy hit the door to her dormitory, she decided to check up on the boys.

She chose a wrong moment to join them. The second she opened the door, a jet of cold water hit her in the face.

"Hermione!" two horrified voices chorused and before she could take out her own wand, both Neville and Draco were utilising the best drying charms they knew.

"Now that lady is decent," Draco said finally, "would she care for a breakfast?" Neville turned away, trying to suppress laughter.

"Lady would, only she is not decent," Hermione replied gravely. "I'll just change - we're not late, are we?" she asked, the terrible thought of being late clearly shown in her eyes.

"Hurry up, our first lesson starts at five - that's less than twelve hours from now!" Draco teased and Hermione dearly wished she had something to hit him with.

"Actually, I promised Professor Sprout I'd help her with the afternoon lessons," Neville commented while Hermione was rummaging through her trunk. "Hey, what's at five? I only have Astronomy at nine."

"So have I," Hermione cried from within her room. "But Draco and I also have Potions."

"Ah - I've been meaning to ask... Never mind," Neville mumbled and bit his lower lip.

"All ready?" Hermione asked after reemerging. "I'm starving."

"Lead the way then!"

* * *

"Hey, Ginny! Wake up! You'll be late for breakfast!" Ginny held her pillow over her head. She had returned at two in the morning, and although she had slept well, she didn't think she had slept enough yet.

"I'm not hungry - I'll come straight to the lessons," she cried to get rid of her roommates. She was sincerely planning on sleeping through the first period - it was History, anyway, so she would be sleeping anyway - but she was, in fact, hungry and her empty stomach wouldn't let her fall asleep again. She got up ten minutes after the rest of the girls left and grudgingly trotted to the old mirror in the corner of their dormitory. It wasn't a magical one - Ginny's Muggleborn roommate Tina brought it in their third year to "liven up" their room. Right now Ginny was deeply grateful the thing couldn't comment on her appearance, because she had dark bags under the eyes and thin, almost bloodless lips.

She didn't want to go all the way to the bathroom yet, so she took an old basin - another Tina's improvement - and filled it with cold water from the tip of her wand.

And to think she had believed the spell completely useless last year!

The cold water refreshed her and Ginny quickly applied a little make-up. Her mother would be mortified to see her wearing make-up - but her mother was a pureblood witch and couldn't identify a small flask of Muggle origin as something she only knew as a "bottled charm". It was useful to hang out with Muggleborns, Ginny thought.

There. Now she could face a magical mirror. She put the basin back under the table and got dressed - she should really learn to dress first, make herself up later. She managed not to smear the powder everywhere, and happy with the result, she finally remembered _why_ she hadn't slept enough.

The smile that lit her face was the last touch needed. Now she could face a sarcastical magical mirror, and still leave a winner.

She never realised the mirror would have to be an unperceptive one, for the smile may have reached her eyes, but not their depths, and not the deepest corner of her heart.

* * *

No matter how pretty the day was, it never seemed so in the dungeon, Snape thought on his way to breakfast, and immeadiately scolded himself. He _liked_ living down there - it kept all sorts of trouble out of his way. Like the tax collector he had once happened to find nearly starved to death far under the Slytherin common room. The poor man had forgotten the fee he had come to collect - good for him, Snape thought and his upper lip curled. Good for him, since the tax for keeping fire beetles had been lifted in the meantime and being made to pay a non-existent tax would have made Snape less than agreeable.

He had got up as usual, but had been kept behind by a pair of quarrelling first-years, who he had to put in detention with Filch, remembering the three extra students he was expecting at five. The prospect of seeing Granger, Longbottom and Malfoy at the same time - _let's not forget the Friday lesson_ - didn't exactly lift Snape's spirit, although he could at least hope they would be respectful and maybe even pay attention.

Who was he kidding? They would be cheeky, as usual, and no doubt Draco had learnt the worst from the two Gryffindors - but they wouldn't be hostile, as some of the older students _who hadn't exactly fought in the war_ were.

Snape dropped into his chair behind the staff table heavily, without uttering a word. He greeted whoever was foolish enough to look at him with a deadly stare and reached for his plate. It filled with his usual breakfast, but his goblet remained empty, and Snape gritted his teeth - the last running joke of Albus Dumbledore, who had asked the house elves _not_ to fill Snape's goblet until he calmed down. He wasn't going to calm down during breakfast, but he couldn't just whisk out a wand at the table. First, it would look bad before the students.

Second, it would offend the house elves, and the blasted creatures would refuse to fill his plate as well.

A rustling of robes reminded him there was another blasted creature sitting next to him. Tisha, who didn't know about Dumbledore's deal with the elves, tipped her own goblet over his, sharing her juice. The movement was so easy and natural it didn't even attract any eyes. Snape stared at his half-full goblet.

_How the hell did she notice?_

"I am under the impression I offended you last night, though I don't know how," she said after a while. Snape didn't answer and sipped at his juice. "I don't think you're going to tell me," she added in a hinting tone. Snape wasn't, indeed. "It's very hard to be friendly to you, you know. You keep being unfriedly," she continued.

"You can always stop trying," Snape said bitterly.

"I'm very determined."

"You mean stubborn."

"I mean determined," Tisha insisted with a small smile. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to." Unused to receiving apologies - sincere apologies - Snape didn't know what to answer.

"You really are stubborn," he muttered embarassedly, suddenly grateful Tisha had chosen to lead the conversation while not looking at each other. He didn't have to put up a perfect mask to cover his feelings, and Tisha could rouse the most curious feelings in him.

The blasted creature.

"I hope these two Gryffindors won't get a third one to complete my nightmare," he observed, eyes fixed upon Brocks and Jorkins who were chattering away at the further end of the Gryffindor table.

"Which ones? Oh. They were the first ones to be there, even before me. Do you think they got lost in the evening and just managed to return here before dawning?" Tisha fantasised.

"Of course not. They have both too clean and tidy robes for that." Tisha sat back in her chair and looked at him reproachfully.

"What kind of jokes do you like?" she asked in an accusing voice. Snape smiled - and if any of the school gossips could see the smile, they would have a topic for a month. Luckily for all the gabs and jibes of the school, Snape hid his face behind his goblet before he managed to get his expression under control.

"Those no-one else understands," he replied and drained his goblet. Tisha shook her head, but felt as if she had just passed an extremely difficult test.

When Snape put the goblet back on the table, it refilled immediately.

* * *

**A/N: **I made up the belladonna part. But as for any possible outright mistakes, remember they're only first years and it's their first week at Hogwarts! ;)  
If you like this one, please review. If you dislike it, review anyway. Please.


	15. Past Is Gone for Good

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Past Is Gone for Good**

* * *

Draco reluctantly offered Hedwig a strap of bacon and Hedwig accepted it with an indifferent air. At Draco's visible relief, however, she made a joyous clicking sound and hopped from one leg to the other.

"Do you think she's gone mad?" Draco whispered. Hedwig hooted. She seemed to be enjoying his uneasiness. Draco looked at his friends. They didn't seem to have noticed him. Neville was watching the staff table with a curious look and Hermione was turned towards the further wall.

"I wonder where Ginny is," she muttered while scanning the occupants of the Gryffindor table. She was so concentrated on looking for the redhead that she completely missed a first-year boy who approached their little table.

"Excuse me," he said politely, "but can I ask you something?" Hermione and Neville snapped to attention. There was a small boy with ridiculously big eyes and a shy smile standing before them.

"Of course you can," Hermione smiled. She had liked being a prefect. It had meant more to her than just a fancy badge and she felt responsibility for the younger students even if it wasn't her job to look after them.

"Ask whatever you like," Draco added. "We'll answer whatever we like." The boy laughed shortly and fidgeted nervously.

"We were just curious... why are the three of you sitting here on your own?" After a brief pause, Neville tried to answer:

"We were in a war last year and didn't make it to school, so we got this fancy table to nurse our wounds and hurt feelings," he mixed the truth with a bit of self-mockery.

"And we got a fancy plaque saying we were veterans," Draco pointed at the plaque over his shoulder. The boy read it.

"It says Patchwork," he said. The boys whipped around and stared at the wall. The plaque remained brass and did, indeed, read Patchwork in neat and even letters.

"It's creepy to be a veteran before twenty," Hermione said curtly.

"Oh - okay. Thank you." The boy turned around and joined his friend, a cute girl, no doubt to share the newly learnt knowledge.

"Hermione!" Draco and Neville echoed. The young witch turned pink and started playing with a napkin.

"I just hope McGonagall won't be angry," Draco teased.

"She'll hardly notice," Neville guessed. "I mean, we didn't. Why should she?" They glanced at the staff table where the Headmistress was engaged in a vivid discussion with Professor Sprout.

"Hey, seems Tisha has made up with Snape!" Draco exclaimed. The two professors were chatting quite amicably, the easiness in their body languages betraying it despite them not looking at each other.

"Strange," Neville commented. "Severus didn't seem very friendly last night." He saw Professor Sprout getting up and finished his juice. "When did you say you have the Potions class? Five?" he asked quickly, getting up.

"Yeah. Why, will you miss us?" Draco asked, cocking his head playfully.

"Terribly," Neville assured him. "See you." He walked briskly out of the hall, skillfully evading the other students.

"Methinks he's in love with Professor Sprout," Draco explained to the ladies. Hedwig flapped her wings to show she disagreed and Hermione shook her head.

"They are probably going to grow something big," she guessed less wildly. "And I am going to..."

"... the library," Draco finished. He had learnt a lot about Hermione.

"You can come with me, if you promise to be good and quiet," the girl added in a patronising tone.

"So sorry - I have some very loud plans for the morning!"

* * *

Minerva approached Moody in his office ten minutes before the first period started.

"Why would you think someone hexed you?" he exclaimed, sounding alarmed. "Do you have any queer feelings? Sit down here." He started running simple tests on her.

"I woke up this morning and couldn't remember how I got in bed," Minerva explained. "This has never happened to me before. I don't _feel_ hexed, but I want to be sure."

"You don't remember yesterday evening?" Moody asked with a soft smile. He put away his wand and took Minerva's hands in his. "My dear Minerva, you were so tired you were practically asleep on your feet. There's nothing wrong with you." Minerva scrutinised his face and noticed his warm expression, intent eyes and half-opened mouth for the first time.

"What exactly happened yesterday evening?" she asked coolly. Moody seemed being taken aback.

"Why - you were dead on your feet, Minerva, so I made you supper and accompanied you to your rooms," he answered. Unconsciously he pressed her hands together and she jerked them out of his grasp.

"Well, thank you for your trouble, Professor," she said very formally, standing up. "I can look after myself." She felt, all of sudden, threatened in an unknown way, unsure and confused. She had never noticed anything unprofessional in Moody's behaviour, but judging by his surprised expression, it had been there and she had to consider her options.

There was, of course, no way she could give in to Moody's gentle hints, she thought as she was walking briskly to the Transfiguration classroom. It wouldn't do - it would be absolutely improper - besides, as a woman, she didn't even feel that way for him. She considered Moody a friend at the very best, and she had to consider him as a member of her staff now.

It occured to her Moody wasn't interested in teaching itself and she had to be prepared for him giving her a notice now - maybe not right away, he _had_ given her a word... in a way... but Moody wouldn't stick to teaching, she knew, especially since he was interested in _her_ and was going to realise very soon teaching at Hogwarts would get him to her proximity, efectively barring him from being noticed as a man.

Now if she could make him become interested in teaching itself... Minerva knew Moody had considerable talent for teaching. He knew what was important, was able to explain it very simply and efectively, he had natural authority and could gain the children's respect easily. He had both the education and the experience, was mature enough for the job, but remained young in the heart just enough to understand the students where they required understanding. He was, indeed, a bit crazy and extravagant, but while teaching teenagers, that could be counted as another advantage.

Minerva interrupted her silent contemplation for long enough to set her class working and once the students got the hang of the thing, she started making a great plan to turn her wannabe lover into a marvellous Hogwarts Master. If there were any super beings watching this, they would be smiling and getting popcorn. Sometimes in the future, Moody's amorous plans would clash with Minerva's professional ones and there would be a great bang.

* * *

Although Draco didn't have loud plans for the morning, as he had claimed, he did have _some_ plans. He hoped Tisha had the first period free so they could talk. He still wasn't sure how to start the conversation, however, he felt he needed it.

He knocked at the door of the Muggle Studies office and felt deeply disappointed at the lack of response. When he was turning away, he bumped into Tisha who was carrying a wide tray piled with books. One of the smallest slipped from its perch at the top of the pile and Draco caught it before it could hit the floor.

"Thanks. Looking for me?" Tisha leant one end of the tray against the door and mumbled the password. She swiftly followed the tray as it nearly fell inside her office. "Come in!" she cried. Draco closed the door and looked around curiously. The office was packed with Muggle stuff: static pictures, mechanic toys, even appliances with their power cords hanging sadly around them. Draco put the book on the table and bent to have a better look at the things he didn't recognize.

"What's this?" he picked up a small object. There were five metal balls hanging in a row, each on two strings.

"It's a Newton's cradle. Watch." Tisha took it from his hand and placed it on a table. Then she raised one of the balls and let it hit the rest of the row. The ball on the other end of the row raised and they swung like that, the three balls in the middle staying in their places while the ones at the edges were hopping up and down, clicking loudly.

"It will go like this for ages," Tisha said, sorting the books onto the last vacant bookshelf. Draco looked at some titles.

"These don't look like textbooks," he remarked.

"They aren't - they are literature. I will ask my students to read each one and make a paper on it - the next best thing to spending some time among Muggles, it is."

"Sounds fun." Draco put the book back on the shelf and perched on the edge of the table.

"Did you want something?" Tisha asked, already rummaging through a box of gartments. Draco caught a piece she flung over her shoulder and examined it. A pair of jeans - a year ago, he would have been very unsure about how to wear them.

"Just a chat. Am I bothering you?"

"Never! Just I'll have to leave you before eleven, I have the seventh years. Here it is!" She triumphantly held out a light dress.

"Discussing fashion with your students?" Draco teased.

"At least they'll know something useful when they hit the Muggle world. Will you have some tea?"

They sat down at Tisha's desk, sipping at the hot bitter liquid Tisha had made. Draco toyed with the Newton's cradle, experimenting.

"I have a drinking bird somewhere," Tisha offered with a small smile. Draco, who didn't know a thing about the toy, just shrugged. He was exploring the laws of physics and he found them fascinating.

"How come we never see stuff like that at Hogwarts?"

"I bet Muggle children would say the same about the stuff you do here," Tisha chuckled. "How are you, anyway? Any classes yet?"

"No, we start this afternoon with Potions." Involuntarily, Draco's hands on the cradle froze. Tisha noticed that.

"You don't look much thrilled. Don't you like it?"

"I used to, but now... after all that's happened..." Draco mumbled, fidgeting. Tisha refilled his cup.

"Hope you're better than Lucius," she said to distract the boy. All of sudden, he looked very young. Sure, he must have been under a lot of stress for a year at least, from what she had heard, and he was still just eighteen, but still...

"Was he bad?" Draco looked up more lively again.

"I can't tell for myself, but Severus said he was crap, and he must know," Tisha answered lightly. Draco hung his head.

"Yeah." Tisha was watching her nephew, worried. She wanted to help him, but how could she - without even knowing what was bothering him, save for the fact Severus figured somewhere in it? She tried to cup his hand, but he drew it in his lap and Tisha pretended she had been reaching for the toy.

"Draco." He didn't even budge, seemingly lost in thoughts. Tisha cleared her throat. "I know we didn't see each other in years - didn't even know each other, I mean - but if you need to tell me - that is, if there's something you would want to tell someone - you know you can tell me, right?" Draco shrugged. She felt sorry for him. So young and already he had been through so much. No-one should be...

Better not think of it, she thought, or you'd get angry.

"I can't be your mother, but I am your family - and you are mine - you see?"

"I don't want you to feel responsible for me. I am of age, after all," Draco said quietly. He didn't look at her.

"But I do - I always will," Tisha insisted. "I saw you as a baby and I think I'll always remember you like that - I can't help it!" The exclamation made Draco laugh briefly.

"Do you think I could come with Neville for the Muggle Studies?" he asked suddenly.

"Sure!"

"But I haven't taken a single lesson on it."

"Never mind. Such a small class, we'll have a plenty of time for anything. Do you want a book or something to get a head start?" Tisha offered. Without waiting for his response she got up and turned to a bookshelf on the other wall.

"Might be nice. When do you meet?"

"Oh - there's a timetable somewhere - here it is." Tisha found the small piece of parchment between two textbooks and pulled it out by its peeking corner. "Friday at ten. Suits you?"

"Perfectly. Thanks. I'll go and get mentally ready for the Potions." Draco got up and turned to take his leave.

"How much time do you have?"

"Till five. Should be enough." Tisha took two books from the shelf and shoved them at Draco, who was already heading for the door.

"Here, something to take your mind off of that smelly business." Tisha winked merrily and Draco smiled at her.

"Thanks. See you."

"Have a nice day." This family thing, Tisha thought, isn't as easy as it seems to be - but it's worth it.

I do feel better, Draco thought. Not excellent, but better.

* * *

By four o'clock, Snape was ready to swear he had been blackmailed, threatened with death _and_ bribed with a king's fortune to do this again - anything rather than admit he had accepted a common offer accompanied with nothing worse than a plea. His day started fairly well, but those wretched students, who never knew anything except for mischief!

"Hello, Severus." He briefly closed his eyes. No-one would come down here if they didn't want anything from him, not even Laetitia Malfoy.

"What do you want?" he asked rudely without facing her.

"I brought you a snack." A rustling of something, than three soft _taps_ as Tisha laid her load on the hard surface.

"You do realise we prepare poisons there, don't you?" Snape drawled.

"You do realise there's a thing called a plate, don't you?" Tisha responded. Snape turned to glare at her. She was taking small packages and jars out of a large picnic basket and placing them on a desk in the first row. She had even laid a table cloth and had been careful enough not to put the cutlery directly on the desk.

"Don't waste my time and tell me what it is you want," Snape demanded.

"Nothing. Have a seat, will you?" She was all sweetness and Snape concluded she must have longed for him to do something really dreadful. He sat down, watching her warily. He accepted a plate piled with unknown food and felt a throb of suspicion - surely she wouldn't try to poison him?

He was torn between his first instict to reject and the smallest thread of trust Tisha had managed to build between them. In the end he simply waited until Tisha took the first bite, trusting his abilities to reach nearest bezoir should she be cunning enough to put something on his plate only - or to take an antidote in advance.

Immediately after wording the thought in his mind, he felt guilty for it. There was really no need to be afraid of Lucius' sister. She had never been in the same league as Lucius, and having no personal grudge against Snape, she would hardly jeopardise her life like that. She knew she stood no chance against any wizard or witch who would want to trace the murderer.

"Is anything the matter?" Tisha interrupted Snape's dark musings.

"Where did you get all this?" he asked, glaring at his fork.

"Made it. Most of what I learnt from Steve - he was a chef - nice guy, but spent too much time on his footie for my liking. I suppose the house elves never heard of half of this."

"Probably," Snape uttered, trying to figure out what a "footie" might be.

"These are my favourites," Tisha pointed at small bits of _something_ and _something else_ lying together on a piece of bread. She proceeded to stab her fork in it and shove it in Snape's mouth.

The surprise combined with his mouth being full stopped Snape from throwing the insolent wretch out of his classroom, dungeons and - possibly - the castle. That, and the fact that _these_ were, indeed, worth to be called someone's favourites.

"I just wondered if I could ask you something personal," Tisha asked after a minute or so, suddenly very grave. Here it comes, Snape thought.

"You may ask, but I do not promise I will answer." A small smile appeared on her face for a split of a second. Then, gravely again:

"It's about Draco." The name hung in the mid-air.

There were many things Snape knew about Draco, most of them not very nice. The little scoundrel had been a nightmare to nearly everyone with any kind of moral principles for six years he had spent at Hogwarts, and that he had been forgiven and accepted by the Gryffindors from his year - at least those who mattered - hadn't cleared him in Snape's eyes.

"What about him?" he asked roughly.

"There is something - well, something happened between the two of you during the war."

"Many things," Snape assured her, waiting for the question.

"I know he's bothered with something and I want to help him, I just - just don't know how." She looked at him and seemed so helpless Snape almost pitied her.

"It wasn't easy for him," he admitted. "As for what exactly happened, I believe it would be more useful if he told you himself." Tisha looked him in the eye and Snape found himself automatically closing his mind, checking every thought that might betray that he in fact had no idea what was bothering young Lord Malfoy. But Tisha - naturally - didn't try to penetrate his mind. She only watched whatever she could see in his eyes for long minutes, before she nodded with notable relief.

"Thank you, Severus."

There was no good spirit to tell Snape why on the Earth should Tisha be soothed by his answer, and of course Snape couldn't guess himself, no matter how hard he tried through the rest of their snack, during the time when Tisha cleared the table and packed her picnic basket, even during the few minutes before his three students arrived. When Snape saw Granger's face, so suprised at seeing Neville getting ready for a lesson, he considered asking her, just to throw her even more of her balance. But she would probably know, and Snape didn't want to give her an upper hand.

"Let's see how much you have forgotten," he barked. All three of them jumped. He started questioning them, choosing easy questions to embarass them, but since they knew the right answers, they were merely encouraged. As Snape's question's grew more difficult, he could see things were as he had expected: Granger had the right answer to everything, Draco to most and Neville to almost nothing. But Snape could see one difference: Neville was less insecure, while Draco more so. And Granger was more patient and less irritating - at least one good thing in a bunch. Officially, they weren't members of their old Houses anymore and he couldn't take away points. He felt as if missing an arm.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape said formally after Neville failed third question in a row, "I can see you have not studied too hard. Maybe you should devote more time to your textbooks," he suggested. _And less to plaguing me with your presence._

Instead of breaking down or at least trembling, the boy just _smiled._

* * *

**A/N:** Since Tisha doesn't explain much about Newton's cradle, you can learn more from the Wikipedia.  
Do me a favour, please - leave me a review!


	16. Thirsty

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Thirsty**

* * *

Ginny was really, really hard trying to learn. She had Potions the first thing in the morning, and although it was their second lesson that year, Snape would no doubt expect them to know everything up to chapter five - maybe even all of the chapters, since the seventh year's textbook didn't seem to follow any actual course. There was just a plenty of brewing instructions, some of them even with diagrams to follow! Ginny sighed.

The common room was too noisy, Ginny decided. There was a pair of fifth years playing chess with a group of mates whooping whenever the pieces fought and cheering to the winner of the duel, some younger boys where playing Exploding Snap and a couple of sixth years was having a loud row, yelling at each other from the staircases to their respective dormitories - they, too, had an encouranging audience. It was quite impossible to concentrate in the general uproar. Escaping to the dormitory wouldn't help much, for Ginny's roommates were probably thoroughly gossipping. Luckily, she kept the invisibility cloak in an inner pocket of her robes and the Marauder's Map in her bag. She packed her Potions textbook and slipped out of the common room.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she whispered once in a quiet corridor. The map filled itself with lines and moving dots. Ginny quickly searched it for Filch and Mrs. Norris, knowing the teachers would be mostly in their offices as it was still early in the evening. Filch, too, was in his office, his dot nearly blending with that of his cat. Ginny tapped the map briskly.

"Mischief managed," she whispered. "Robert?" she called as she was putting the now-folded map away. The boy stepped out of his hiding place behind an armour, eyes wide. Ginny smiled at him.

"And your friend, too. Elizabeth, is it?" The girl was rather plump, but not ugly. It was clear from her tanned skin she was used to spend a lot of time outside, and Ginny briefly thought she was probably a good friend for Robert. Then she noticed she was holding a book.

"Do you know my name?" Elizabeth piped uncertainly. She pressed the book to her abdomen with both her arms and stood so close to Robert their shoulders brushed now and then as the children were breathing.

"Sure," Ginny smiled. She was cheating - she had read the name on the map, but there was no need to explain that to the children. "What are the two of you doing here?"

"It was too noisy in there," Robert nodded in the general direction of the Gryffindor common room. "There's a little alcove here with a window and, well, we were just talking there. Are you looking for a quiet place yourself?" Ginny nodded and peeked behind the armour. There was just enough light coming through the window to spoil one's eyes reading, which had been, Ginny suspected, what the children had been doing here.

"I know about a quiet place where we can read or talk," she said impulsively. The two looked at her expectantly. "Come." Ginny led them down the nearest stairs, along a long corridor and up another stairs to the entrance to the Room of Requirement. The path had changed at least three times the year before that and again over the summer, but Ginny had learned to find her way instinctively. Or maybe the castle itself was helping her - sometimes she surely felt as if being shown the right way.

Robert and Elizabeth stared as Ginny paced the long corridor three times up and down. Just when they were ready to voice their doubts, the door appeared and the children gasped in surprise. Ginny bowed them inside.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement," she said formally. "It will become whatever you will need, just pass the place where the door is three times and concentrate." There were two brightly lit desks standing a good distance apart in the room. Ginny headed to the smaller one and took out her Potions textbook again.

"Let's stay here till seven," she said. "We'll have enough time to get back to the common room before curfew." She glanced at the grandfather's clock standing next to the door. "If you need anything, just think of it and then try to find it on one of the shelves," she instructed before settling down with her book. Robert and Elizabeth started talking in hushed voices and Ginny tuned them out.

"Magic is the most important part of any brewing," she read in a soft voice to better remember the lesson. "It is, however..."

* * *

"It is, however, possible to brew some of the simpliest potions without the talent," Snape lectured his two older students. "They will not be as potent as if brewed properly and may easily become a mere broth if the brewer makes any mistake." He noticed Neville glancing at him and frowned.

"Mr. Longobottom, you would do better to mind your own cauldron," he scolded and bent to inspect the contents of said cauldron. "It is nearly adequate. Have you been practicing?"

"Sure, brewing tea every morning," Neville replied lightly. A corner of Snape's mouth twitched and Neville winked at Hermione, whose jaw had fallen wide open at his statement.

"Close your mouth, Miss Granger, you do not want to swallow anything. I can assure you that the ink you are using is not digestible," Snape barked. Neville supressed a chuckle and looked down into his cauldron. The liquid was slowly simmering, as it was supposed to do, but its colour was a little more yellow than...

"Do you call this orange, Mr. Longbottom?" Neville stared at the slowly circulating surface.

"No, sir," he admited. He dared not look up. He had discovered ten minutes into the lesson that Snape's best menacing glare hadn't intimidated him any more - instead, he'd found it amusing. Although it was more pleasant to brew a potion while having great time, it didn't help him to acquire abilities he had never learned, and knowing that Snape actually _wanted_ him to succeed, he felt strangely responsible.

It was, indeed, a very odd feeling. As much as he cared for his friends, he usually felt the least among them. With the only exception of Luna. He _had_ felt responsible for Luna - in a way. One very different from the way he felt responsible for not hurting Snape right now.

"Why, pray tell, is your potion less orange and more yellow than it should be?" Neville consulted his textbook briefly, feeling hot rising to his cheeks. The fact was he had no idea how he had achieved a colour so close to the desired one.

"I don't know, sir," he said quietly. Snape didn't comment at that and simply picked up where he had left his lecture.

"Among those simple potions that can be brewed by a Muggle belong strengthening potions based on common herbs, healing lotions or aphrodisiacs, which are sometimes incorrectly presented as love potions. True love potions, actually, require the brewer to use a significant magical additive. Some textbook list poisons as well, but that is incorrect. The non-magically brewed poison is usually poisonous because of the poisonous components but the venom lacks any magical dimension." Snape stopped at his desk and briefly consulted his notes. "How come it is possible to brew a magical potion without a magical additive?" he asked all of the sudden. Hermione looked panicky. Snape hadn't assigned any textbook for their course and she hadn't had the opportunity to learn all the chapters in advance. She didn't know the answer and felt oddly inadequate because of it.

Draco watched as Hermione anxiously bit her lower lip. He didn't know the answer, either, and he was trying in vain to think of something. His brain seemed to have grown inoperable over the last year, when he hadn't been required to do much thinking.

"But there is a magical additive," Neville said from his cauldron, carefully stirring the thickening liquid. "A lot of them, actually. The herbs and other ingredients are natural source of magical energy." Snape swept over his workplace, took the stirring rod from him and examined the potion. Neville hadn't managed to correct the colour, which meant the potion would have a slight side effect of causing nausea, but it's thickness suggested it would have the desired effect as well.

"Correct. You will write me an essay debating the possible mistakes you made brewing this potion and how would each influence the result." Neville blinked. "Clear your place."

Snape took a tray with various herbs from a side table and placed it before Hermione and Draco.

"Most of the healing potions we use are a result of centuries of research, thousands of experiments and an uncountable amount of small changes. These herbs are the ingredients that bear the magical energy able to heal. Not all of them are strong enough to allow non-magical brewing, though. Your assignment is to decide which of them are and in what form. The usual Muggle way to brew a healing potion is to simply make a tea. Are you familiar with any magic-detecting charm?" Hermione and Draco both nodded. "Very well. Set to work, then. I expect you to write a two-feet parchment on your proceedings and discoveries each. Two feet," Snape stressed with a pointed look at Hermione. The girl blushed.

Turning to Neville, Snape noted with a wave of annoyance she had grown up into a prettier girl he would have expected seven years ago.

* * *

Mrs. Norris slipped into a dark narrow passage between a wall and a row of heavy curtains to evade a group of second years who were on their way to one of the bathrooms. She ran through the passage and emerged just under the stairs, only to disappear in a fake wall on the other side. No human even knew about this other staircase - it was so small and dark. The tiny windows on each turning were dirty and never let through any light. That hinted even the house elves were ignorant of this secret, and Mrs. Norris liked that. She despised of the creatures, especially because she was forbidden to hunt them.

She mounted all the way to the toppest floor. She had used to run up that staircase in her days, but the time had taken its toll on her and in order to sustain her dignity - and keep her breath - she had to slow down over the years.

There was a trapdoor leading to an even higher floor. Mrs. Norris could sense the space between the ceiling and the roof, she had been, however, unable to gain access to that space. No matter how hard she had tried in the past, the trapdoor had remained frustratingly closed. She hissed at the offensive thing and slipped into the main corridor.

There were students coming her way. Mrs. Norris kept to the wall to avoid them. There had been days in which she had preferred meeting the students in the open, feeling her superioty that - unbeknownst to her - Filch's position had ensured for her. As she grew older, she had lost the interest in terrifying the students. Instead, she chose to keep distance.

It was an older girl and two of the youngest children. Mrs. Norris recognised the small girl - she had met her the other night wandering through the castle. She hadn't seemed hostile as most of the other students did, and Mrs. Norris crept forward to have a better look at her. The movement, however subtle, caught the girl's eyes.

"Hello, Mrs. Norris," she said pleasantly. Mrs. Norris took a step backwards, but went on gazing at the girl, who was now crouching down with one hand, palm upwards, stretching towards her. She hissed but moved a little closer to sniff at the offered palm. It was empty and clear and Mrs. Norris hissed again, albeit not in an unfriendly way. She backed away and slipped into the shadows, marking the girl in her mind as a rare curiosity.

"She's not very friendly, is she?" Elizabeth asked rather bashfully, seeing Ginny staring at her obviously in shock.

"That was about as friendly as she could ever get!"

* * *

As his three students filed out of his classroom, already talking about Astronomy, Snape decided to have a coffee in the staff room. It was a quiet alternative to his own rooms this late, as he couldn't suppose anybody would be there after dinner, and it would allow him the benefit of a walk through the corridors when it wasn't his patrol night without seeming to be patrolling voluntarily... too obviously.

As it turned out, the staff room wasn't deserted. Snape frowned at Tisha who was sitting at a desk working through a pile of books.

"Don't you have an office?" Snape asked while scrutinising the Muggle coffee-machine. It seemed innocent enough and he wondered whether Tisha had managed to get a cup of coffee out of it.

"I brought it up here after the lunch and then found it easier to finish the work here than to mark pages in eight different volumes." Snape pressed one of the buttons on the machine and it produced a loud buzzing sound and a thin stream of light brown liquid which filled nearly all of the bottom of the cup standing in front of the machine.

"It's completely and utterly out of order," Tisha said from her desk. "I'll take it back to my office later."

"So sad. No good coffee for Muggles," Snape mused as he refilled the staff pot and poured himself a cup.

"I can always ask Dobby. Actually, I believe he would be offended if I managed without him." Snape leisurily strolled behind her and peeked onto her notepad, which happened to be a Muggle thing.

"What's this?" he queried, purposely sounding repulsed.

"Muggle beletry. I always wanted to make notes on some of them and finally I have an excuse." Tisha softly laughed as she dipped her quill.

"I die of thirst beside the fountain, I'm hot as fire, I'm shaking tooth on tooth," Snape read aloud. "Who wrote it, some lunatic?"

"Oh, Severus, you have no sense for art!" Tisha cried, trying to sound horrified and failing. She followed his movements with her merry eyes as she recited the rest of the stanza, concluding with a forceful, "Warmly welcomed, always turned away."

"Oh, really?" Snape muttered.

"Francois Villon," Tisha supplied happily. "A French medieval poet. Very famous."

"A criminal, if I recall correctly."

"You do." Tisha cocked her head. "Have you studied Muggle poetry?" she asked curiously.

"I would not call it studying. I was, at a time, interested in some pieces." Snape left his cup next to the unhelpful coffee-machine and headed for the door.

"Have a nice night," Tisha called after his retreating figure.

"Likewise," he uttered before closing the door behind himself. He took a roundabout way towards the dungeons, sweeping the first happy couple of the year out of a quiet corner and back to their respective common rooms. He arrived back to his living room about half past nine and found it already occupied.

"I thought you had Astronomy." Neville raised his eyebrows at the displeased tone and set aside the book he had been reading.

"I decided to drop it and concentrate on the Potions. It's a nice hobby, but I need the O.W.L. more. Is anything the matter?"

"Nothing." Snape sat into his armchair and stared moodily into the fire. "Any luck with your reading?"

"Well, I was looking at effects of substituting certain rare herbs with more common ones. It seems fascinating." Neville picked up his book and found a passage he believed to be extremely interesting.

"Don't try to run before you learn to walk," Snape drawled as if it pleased him.

"What _is_ the matter, Severus?" Neville barked.

"You are unusually impatient tonight," Snape observed, his mood lifting. "Is anything the matter?" Neville sighed and returned to reading. They sat in silence for five minutes.

"You don't turn pages," Snape said calmly. "I assume the reading is too difficult for you."

"You assume wrongly." Neville dropped the book and stared at Snape's profile until the Potions Master gave in and looked at him.

"So?"

"The fourth of September. Year ago, we figured out where Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone." There was no need to clarify who was the other one. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Snape knew. What he didn't know, though, was what to say, so he remained silent.

"She didn't have to come with me," Neville mumbled.

"Neither of you had to leave the school," Snape offered.

"She wasn't old enough to join in the war."

"Some say she wasn't _sane_ enough." Neville looked up sharply at that, but didn't say anything, and Snape continued, "Neither of you were old enough to fight in a war. Not you, not Miss Lovegood, certainly, not Weasley, not even Potter - despite the fact that _he_ had no way to avoid it. It was her choice."

"It wasn't her choice to die!" Neville jumped up and started pacing the room.

_It was her fault,_ was the only reply that came in Snape's mind, and he checked himself in time and didn't say it. He watched Neville stopping at the fireplace, one hand grasping at the mantelpiece, his arm shielding his face from Snape's prying eyes. Snape waited.

It had been him - although they hadn't recognised him then - who had accidentally disturb them during a rather passionate date under the stairs in the Black Manor. Luna had seemed unusually concentrated at the time and Neville had been flushed, red and out of breath. The topic had never been brought up since, but Snape suspected their relationship had moved somewhere more comfortable before the night when Luna Lovegood had been taken a prisoner of Voldemort. The result od _that_ had been quite predictable: the little the poor girl had known had been forced out of her and then Bellatrix Lestrange had been given a free hand with the young witch. The extreme pain of Cruciatus had caused Luna's muscles to spasm so violently her neck had been broken after a mercifully short time. Her dead body had been left on the Grimauld Place, which was as close as the Dark Lord could guess at the Order's headquaters' whereabouts.

"I presume it must have been very hard for you, to find her dead," Snape said when Neville refused to budge.

"I was glad," Neville whispered.

"I beg your pardon?" slipped out of Snape's mouth in shock.

"I was glad," Neville repeated, more loudly this time. "I was glad she was dead, that she wasn't like my parents, that she was _gone for good._" A sound threateningly resembling a sob escaped Neville's throat and his fingers squeezed the mantelpiece so hard his knuckles turned white. Snape contemplated this. He hadn't seen what had become of the Longbottoms, but their fate sounded horribly enough to understand.

Neville stared in the fire, but all he could see was the expression on Luna's dead face. It had been a mask of horror and a picture of madness: if she had survived, she would have been gone forever, anyway. She would have joined his parents in the Mungo's ward for mentally ill and she would have lived for years, reminding him of a mistake he had made.

He hadn't noticed the movement, but suddenly there was a thin, long-fingered hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He dared not turn and look at Snape, who stood beside him mutely until Neville removed his hand from the mantelpiece.

"I shouldn't have let her come with me."

"As I remember Miss Lovegood," Snape said, letting go of Neville's shoulder, "there was no force in the world to stop her from that." Neville laughed shortly. A glass flew in his hand and he accepted it without hesitation.

"To Looney," he raised the glass, turning slightly. The alcohol tasted almost as bitter as his toast.

* * *

Once again, the Hogsmeade grew silent. Blaise looked out of the window in the general direction of the Hogwarts castle. He could only make out an outline of something that could have been one of the towers, but it made him feel better anyway. He shut the window and checked both the door to the shop and the back door.

Ginny was sitting in his kitchen, nursing a cup of tea.

"Are you going to tell me how you got in here?" Blaise asked. Ginny shook her head and smiled. He bent to kiss her on the cheek, which she allowed, but she drew away before he could kiss her mouth.

She had been like that since the end of the war.

Blaise poured himself a cup of tea, resignated to an hour or two of her excruciating company. It was a torture, sometimes, to have her so near and yet so distant, but it was better than being alone.

"Have you had a nice day?" Ginny shrugged and then suprised Blaise with a rare smile.

"I should go," she said before Blaise finished his tea. He noticed she had barely touched her own.

"Ginny?" He wanted to say she didn't have to come if it was too much trouble, but the truth was he didn't dare saying anything like that. He wanted to ask her to stay, yet he knew she wouldn't. He wanted to tell her how much he cared for her, but the words never found their way out of his mouth, so in the end he simply hugged her and let her go for the night.

"I'm so glad I have you so close," she said before disappearing under the stairs.

"I have never been further," Blaise answered bitterly.

* * *

**A/N: **The verses are from Villon's Ballade, also known as "I die of thirst beside the fountain". A fine piece of poetry, if you ask me, although I prefer the Czech translation to the English one (I simply like Czech rhyming rules better ;)).


	17. Big Eyes

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed. I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Big Eyes**

* * *

The three veterans approached the Defence classroom with mixed feelings. Hermione had assured them several times they had covered most of the seventh year curriculum during the war - the teacher, however, was Mad-Eye Moody, which meant he would _expect_ them to have covered it, _which_ meant he would expect them to learn more.

Once again, the former Auror surprised them, when he motioned them to the first row of desks.

"I suppose you haven't paid much attention to the theory during the last year, have you?" he barked as soon as they took places. Hermione blushed and the boys shook their heads. "Let's see what you do remember, first. What is the best way to get rid of a boggart, Malfoy?"

"To turn it into something funny with Riddiculus," Draco answered quickly, remembering the first lesson with Lupin.

"And?" Moody's own eye looked at him, while the other seemed to be looking through him. Draco suppressed a shudder. It was no secret that Moody didn't like him and Draco had to concentrate hard to remember his question under the scrutinising gaze of one human and one magical eye.

"To... laugh?"

"Is that a question or an answer, Malfoy?" Moody barked impatiently.

"An answer?" Moody frowned but didn't comment on the questioning tone of Draco's answer.

"Granger, what do you concentrate on when casting Riddiculus?"

"Picturing my worst fear turning into something funny," Hermione answered swiftly. Moody nodded.

"How do you tell a werewolf from a common wolf, Longbottom?" Neville tried to remember the five differences, but came up only with a furry tail and a vague memory about something concerning the whiskers, so he decided to go for a simple answer:

"If it's a wolf, it runs away from me, if it's a werewolf, it attacks." Moody's frown deepened as both his eyes focused on Neville's face.

"There are five very distinctive differences, Longbottom," he said coolly.

"If it is a werewolf and if I can see its whiskers, it's already too close," Neville explained. It was a healthy theory, Hermione thought - one that could keep one healthy - and she looked up, half expecting Moody to praise the logic and vigilance behind it. But Moody squared his shoulders as if preparing for a battle.

"You are getting quite cheeky there, Longbottom." He turned and retrieved a chalk from his desk. He started drawing a diagram on the blackboard, explaining the theory behind common blocks. Hermione frantically tried to both copy the diagrams from the blackboard and put down what Moody was saying, while the boys exchanged a puzzled look. They glanced at Hermione's quill scribling as fast as possible and decided to share, Draco carefully drawing the diagrams and Neville writing every single word Moody said.

* * *

Tisha piled the Muggle books on her table and checked she had written everything important on the blackboard. She was ready for the next lesson and there was really nothing she could do to postpone reading the letter.

It bore the Ministry credentials and Tisha reluctantly broke the seal. Her eyebrows creased as she reread the few lines the letter contained. She subconsciously tapped her pockets to get her cell phone and let out a short laugh when she realised it was stashed in her Muggle purse, since it wouldn't work at Hogwarts.

In the end she copied the letter and headed to the owlery.

* * *

"Why was he so bitchy?" Draco asked Neville as soon as they left the Defence classroom. "I understand why he hates me, but what has he against you?" Neville shrugged.

"Guess it's about Severus, really," he said after letting a group of third years pass them. "If you think he hates you, you've never seen the two of them together."

"That bad?"

"See you," Hermione piped in and took a turn into a longly unused corridor, which she had learned led directly to the library.

"Worse." The boys stopped when they reached the marble staircase, realising they had been heading to the Slytherin and Gryffindor common rooms, while their own lay in a completely different direction.

"Want to have a game?" Draco suggested, eying the clear sky outside through a nearby window.

"Me?" Neville laughed. "No, thanks. I think I'll go work on my Potions essay."

"Didn't you finish it yesterday evening?"

"Er, not completely. I need to check something in the library," Neville lied. He had been studying Potions, only he had abandoned his essay after few sentences in a pursuit of an interesting footnote.

"You should have gone with Hermione."

"Oh, now I can't find the library on my own? Watch me," Neville challenged and ran up the stairs, hoping the library _was_ in that direction.

* * *

"Mister Brocks," Snape drawled in his most vicious voice when the air in the classroom finally cleared. The student in question raised his head sheepishly. His face was dirty and his hair had become a smelly mess during the explosion of his cauldron, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked as meekly as a Gryffindor ever could. His eyes were unusually big and open and his fear was almost palpably emanating from him.

"What were you doing to this simplest of potions to let it explode?" Snape asked in a low, threatening voice. The boy shrunk a little, but his voice didn't falter as he answered:

"I read that wartcap powder added before porcupine quills allows the quills to be added before the heat is down," Brocks answered,eyes suddenly lighting up, fear gone, "... in general, and doesn't usually influence the result aside from its colour and flavour and I wanted to find out whether it was true for boil cure potion and since there was wartcap powder among the ingredients I just tried it." Brocks shot an embarassed glance at his immediate neighbour, Elizabeth Jorkins, who had managed to escape being sprayed by the thick result of Brocks' experiment by ducking under her desk, and then looked back at Snape. "Turns out it doesn't, sir," he added with a small smile.

"Correct," Snape mumbled before he could stop himself, then glared to make sure everyone forgot he had just said anything. He was at a loss. A part of him could perfectly understand Brocks' train of thoughts, and it was this part of his brain that followed the boy's explanation and even admired the theory. On the other hand, experiments like that surely shouldn't take place during classes, especially when carried out by an unsupervised ignorant first year.

"That would be ten points from Gryffindor for not following my instructions and you'll see me for a detention tonight," Snape said with a scowl. He replayed the experiment before his inner eye to guess at what the result of it could be like and what could it do when mixing with the rest of the ingredients on the table and with a sigh vanished the mess with a swift _Evanesco_. "Clean up the rest. Was there anything you wanted, Miss Jorkins?" The girl blushed a little.

"I'm done, sir, so I wanted to help Robert." Snape inspected the contents of her cauldron. Big puddles of thick lime cream were slowly dissolving into what might have been an adequate boil cure potion before the explosion.

"You had better thank Mister Brocks for spoiling your work as well," Snape said casually and vanished the contents of her cauldron. "There is no way to tell how well or bad you have done. If you are feeling unwell, Mister Brocks, you should visit the infirmary." The concoction shouldn't be dangerous as far as Snape knew, but it would probably give Brocks nasty rash since he didn't seem to be interested in getting it off of his face and hands.

"Are you burnt?" Snape asked, for the second time during the same lesson letting his mouth run away from him. Of course the boy wasn't burnt; the wartcap powder should have calmed the potion down, and probably did.

"Oh, no, Professor, it is quite cool," Brocks answered indifferently, sniffing his fingers curiously. He didn't seem to mind he had lost his House any points or had been given detention and there was part of Snape's mind that understood that quite too well.

"I think I used too much wartcap powder," Brocks informed Jorkins, who tried to stare him down and failed. "And maybe I should have added the quills more gradually, so the reaction wouldn't be so violent." Snape realised two things - first, what Brocks was saying was a naive, but logically solid argumentation. The boy had talent, but lacked knowledge, experience and a sense of self-preservation.

Second, the whole class was staring at him.

"Mister Brocks," he said meaningly, leaning over the destroyed cauldron and reaching into the Brocks' personal space, "You should have followed the instructions in your textbook. You definitely used too much wartcap powder, as there was _none_ listed among the ingrediences you were supposed to use. This class is _not_ your playground and you will _not_ carry out any more experiments in here, understood?" The long and intent speech made the boy fully aware of the fact that he had made his professor very, very angry, and he looked up at Snape's looming face and nodded, and added a timid "yes, Professor" to confirm he had understood.

"Class dismissed," Snape said shortly as the bell sounded. As the students were leaving the class, Tisha slipped inside. She nodded at him, but kept silent until they were alone.

"Quite harsh," she commented. "Poor boy was just naturally curious."

"If he carries on like this he may easily get naturally _killed,_", Snape retorted calmly. "I suppose you didn't come all the way here just to complain about my teaching methods?"

"I'm not complaining. It's your student who may not remain as enthusiastic a brewer after your, umm, excellent motivation."

"What is it you want, Professor?" Snape asked, trying to express his irritation both by the sound of his voice and by turning his back to her.

"Changing subject, Severus?"

"I do not have the time _nor_ the will to exchange meaningless retorts with you. What do you want?" Snape faced Tisha, glaring at her with all malevolence he could gather. She tilted her head slightly, studied his face curiously and smiled.

"I missed your sense of humour." Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Tisha, however, stood her ground, her expression a picture of innocence, her lips still curved into a mischievious smile.

Snape's own expression shifted. Tisha wasn't able to decipher it, but there was something unbelievably uncharacteristic and incredibly delicate - at least Tisha was sure it was there, until Snape's expression shifted back to his usual hard-stone one. The desire to tease him having left her, Tisha felt her own smile getting gentle. She amicably patted Severus' shoulder.

"Have a nice day." She left and carefully closed the door behind her. Snape abandoned his preparations for the next class and frowned at the door. He had given in the temptation to have a look inside that blonde head of hers, but it had done him no good. Her thoughts had been like a beehive to him: filling enough, but completely confused.

* * *

Upon mounting the staircase out of the dungeons, Tisha ran into Neville - literally. She grabbed into the railing with one hand, stretching out the other to steady the clumsy boy.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"No harm done," she reassured him with a wide smile. Neville glanced down the stairs.

"Have you been downstairs to see Severus?" he asked, sounding surprised and blushing violently at once.

"Sort of. Listen, Neville, do you think you could do me a favour?" Tisha inspected her watch and calmed down. She still had enough time before her next class.

"Uh... what kind of a favour?"

"Nothing too horrible. I need to pop to London in the afternoon. Could you come to the gates with me and call me the Knight Bus?" For several seconds Neville just stared, then he realised Tisha didn't have a wand to wave at the bus.

"Certainly. Wait - did Severus refuse to do that?" Neville's eyes grew ridiculously large as he contemplated this new possible level of rudeness.

"No," came the embarassed reply.

"No?"

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't ask? But..."

"I couldn't," Tisha admitted. "He thought I wanted something and it never even crossed his mind I would come if I hadn't."

"You did want something," Neville pointed out.

"That's the point," Tisha hissed. "Don't tell him," she begged. In retrospective it seemed stupid to pretend she hadn't sought Severus in order to ask him a favour. She was a newbie, after all, and she hadn't asked that much of him so far. But still.

"At what time do you want to leave?" Neville decided to cut the growingly uneasy conversation short.

"I have a class now and then I'd like to have lunch. At two? Does that suit you?"

"It would be my pleasure. At two in the Entrance Hall, then." And with a polite smile Neville retired in the direction he had originally come from.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, okay, I know it took me ages to update. I'm sorry - I just couldn't set my mind to work at it. Please don't sue me (I don't have any money anyway). Reviews would be highly appreciated. :)


	18. Desires That Arise at Night

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Desires That Arise at Night**

* * *

Lunch at Hogwarts was a lengthy affair. Breakfast was usually hasty and students attempted to have it as late as possible, later in the school year practically at the beginning of the first period. Dinner, on the other hand, students hardly ever postponed: the happy second their last class ended, the relief made them hungry. But lunch, the meal pressed in between morning and afternoon classes, somehow managed to take forever. Some students hurried to it, so they could have rest afterwards, some lingered behind, talking to Professors or to each other, some liked to hang around their tables until they could talk to each and every of their House, those who had History after lunch went out to enjoy the nice weather - if the weather was nice - planning on a cosy nap during Binns' lecture... and unknowningly to all of them, every day one of the Professors watched over the Great Hall from the first filled plate to the last drained goblet.

Filius Flitwick rather liked the duty. It wasn't as hard as patrolling the corridors - the mere presence of a member of the staff at the High Table stopped most of the mischief - and he could stay sitting through it, drinking juice, enjoying a dessert and watching the children. Thursday the fifth, he noted happilly, the dessert (a blueberry cake) was particularly tasty.

He had tried to discuss the cake with Professor Malfoy, but she was restless and obviously in a hurry - she had been held back by a curious student, she had explained. She left at quarter to two and ten minutes later, Flitwick saw her pacing the Entrance Hall clad in a long Muggle coat. To Flitwick's surprise, she was joined by Neville Longbottom and the two left the castle together.

The level of noise rose and Flitwick turned his eyes towards Hufflepuff table, where a group of third-years heatedly discussed their latest Transfiguration lesson. Before Flitwick decided to get up, a prefect came round, asked for quiet and sorted out whatever had been the problem.

These prefects, Flitwick mused peacefully, were an excellent invention.

"Ginny - wait!" Flitwick witnessed Hermione Granger, who had been poking in her meal for more than an hour, darting after the youngest Weasley, who she had been obviously waiting for. Ginny had apparently intended to only grab something small and eat outside - that wasn't exactly by the rules, but was tolerated as long as the weather held. The two girls met at the door and walked out in silence - Flitwick saddened when he imagined what, or rather who, they were going to be silent about.

"Quiet day, Filius?" At last Headmistress arrived.

"Yes - but lunch's not over yet." Flitwick winked merrilly, but to no avail. Minerva was already piling food on her plate. She was so tired nowadays, Flitwick didn't even attempt to strike up a conversation and returned to watching the students. There was a whispering at the Slytherin table which might or might not mean trouble brewing. A quick glance at Gryffindors confirmed Flitwick's suspicions - something had probably happened - but one of the Gryffindor prefects caught his eye and nodded before she moved closer to the sullenly looking boys at her table to calm them down. Furthermore, Professor Snape entered the Hall, looking very much dismayed and sour. The Slytherins were no longer a united body supporting their Head of House - there were too many whose parents had supported Voldemort and therefore hated Snape with all reptilian passion they could muster - but each and every of them either respected or feared him, and his appearance alone made them straighten their backs and lower their voices.

Snape seated himself in a rigid manner that spoke volumes about his bad mood. Flitwick greeted him and was suprised at receiving an answer.

"Tisha has left already?" Snape asked, eyes trained at his plate, fingers of his left hand toying with a fork. When Flitwick supplied she had, and added she had left the castle as well, Snape jabbed his fork into his meal, which concluded the conversation.

Several first-years burst into the Hall nearly at a run, but slowed down upon seeing Snape at the staff table. They finished their meal hurriedly and left the emptying Hall only few minutes later. Flitwick contentedly drained his goblet, Snape rose without uttering another word and it started raining outside, which was the last event of the lunch.

* * *

"So... how are you holding up?" Hermione asked when they were snugly seated near the lake. The wind was a little cold, but it was still warm enough and the water surface moved soothingly back and forth.

"Fine," Ginny replied without looking up. "You?"

"Well, I - well, I guess. Heard from Blaise?" Again, Ginny refused to meet Hermione's eyes when she nodded yes.

Hermione felt their friendship slipping away and wasn't sure whether she was sorry for it or not. She had changed more that she had ever believed possible - and Ginny, as much as she hadn't taken an active part in the war, had been affected so much - had _lost_ so much - she couldn't have remained the same. They had grown apart, quite understandably, but Hermione wanted their closiness back, missed their girly conversations, and had to try.

"You'll see him on the first Hogsmeade weekend, won't you?"

"Well, if I go shopping, then probably." Ginny shrugged. "How, uh - how are you getting on with the boys?" There wasn't any real interest behind the question, but Hermione chose to ignore it.

"Quiet so far. No fires, no murders, you know," she attempted a joke. It felt half sick and half pleasant to joke about the war: sick because of all the dead and pleasant because it meant she was healing, Hermione mused.

"Oh." Whether Ginny found the joke sick or just unamusing, she didn't tell and continued eating in silence until the sun disappeared behind large grey clouds.

"It's about to rain," Hermione commented. They got up and hurried back to the castle. As the first heavy drops fell on their heads, Hermione allowed one bitter tear slip out of the corner of her eye. It slid down her cheek and mingled with the raindrops on her chin.

* * *

After seeing Tisha off from the main gate, Neville ran to the greenhouses, where he was already expected by Professor Sprout. Her screechsnaps had overgrown their pots over the summer, thanks to the good weather a lot sooner than the kind Professor could let the fifth-years to deal with the matter - and, as she put it with an enthusiastic smile, there wasn't enough time to have the sixth-years do it.

When shortly before three o'clock Neville went outside to fetch Hermione, he was covered in dirt, sporting several leaves in his hair, and he had a nasty bite on his left forearm where a Fanged Gerandium had struck him unexpectedly. Hermione looked clean and tidy, but Neville couldn't help but notice that her eyes were kind of red, as if she had been crying for the hours between lunch and their afternoon lesson. She didn't say anything, though, and Neville didn't pry.

"Very well, let's see how much you've forgotten," Sprout began merrilly. She started to quiz them, very much like Snape had, which brought a slight smile to Neville's lips. In the end they showed more knowledge then Sprout had feared - as she said, praising them - even if it was still less than Neville had hoped for. Especially after all the extra time spent helping out in the greenhouses.

"Dinner time?" Neville asked as they walked together back to the castle. Hermione shrugged.

"I guess I'll have a shower first." Although their first lesson had been only a lecture, the Fanged Gerandium decided to throw dirt around the greenhouse, because it couldn't reach either of them, and most of the dirt ended in Hermione's hair. It looked sort of pretty, Neville mused quietly, in a rural way - but Hermione probably didn't care about it.

Neville accompanied Hermione upstairs and inspected his wound. It didn't look as bad as it hurt and he decided he could skip a visit to the hospital wing in favour of having a shower himself. In the end, they were among the last ones who headed for dinner. Draco was already finishing his dessert, Hedwig nested in the crook of his elbow. He saluted them with a fork.

"I think she fell in love with me," he whispered theatrically. Hermione laughed.

* * *

Snape headed back to the dungeons as soon it was bearable to leave the dinner table. He felt annoyed, edgy and aggravated. He had half-hoped to talk to Tisha at dinner - he had been actually looking forward to blaming her for his bad mood - but she didn't show up. He found that extremely rude. She appeared whenever he wanted to be alone, but when once in a time he wanted to see her, she couldn't be found.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he mumbled menacingly as he passed by a group of chattering students in the Entrance Hall. They shot him a disgusted glance each, but didn't complain about the unfair penalty, as they knew from experience it would only result in a further loss of points. Snape descended the stairs and headed to his office. He slammed the door behind himself and frowned. He had a detention to supervise, but had to yet come up with anything he could assign Brocks to do.

His frown disappeared when he discovered a large shipping of asphodel - so at last it had arrived. An evil smile broke on his face when he examined the packages closer. There were also toads and bats, freshly killed and kept under a preservation spell, and a letter of apology that begged him to accept a little "gift" as a compensation for the late delivery. It paid off to complain, he mused. And now he had something that would keep Brocks busy.

* * *

The grounds had been quiet for hours when Tisha finally stepped down from the Knight Bus. She closed her eyes to overcome a wave of nausea - the Muggle-repelling spells affected her, although she knew the castle was there - and it took a lot of her willpower to reach the gate. She signalled the driver of the bus she didn't need further help and with a loud bang the bizarre vehical disappeared.

The gate was locked for the night, but Minerva had provided Tisha with a large metal key. Tisha leaned heavily against the bars of the gate, causing its hinges creak, and pressed the key to the place she believed to be the magical keyhole. Her vision swam and it took her a while to find the exact spot where the charm on the key unlocked the gate. It opened and Tisha staggered through - she really should have asked someone to come for her, or owled Minerva and returned in the morning, only it was so late in the night and she was _sure_ she would manage.

As soon as the gate closed behind her, the outlines of the castle became visible and her head cleared. Tisha took several deep breaths and started on the path to the entrance. She felt tired and longed for her bed so strongly she could see herself already slipping under the cover. She tried to recall when her next class started and failed - a certain sign she really needed a rest.

The door creaked as she opened it and again when she closed it. The eerie feeling of magic was nearly overwhelming, so more immediate than during the day. Tisha could hear a quiet whispering sound echoing through the castle and decided not to investigate - it was probably only the sum of the portrait's breathing or the humming of the restless books in the library. As she was about to mount the staircase, however, the whispering grew more particular and drew closer. A dim greenish light appeared on the stairs to the dungeons and within seconds, a transparent figure of the Bloody Baron emerged. He was muttering something to himself, but as soon as he spotted Tisha, he stopped and regained his grim, silent posture. However, he glared at Tisha in a meaningful way.

"There is something I should attend to, isn't there?" Tisha sighed. She had met the Baron during her O.W.L.s week, at a restless night when she had not been able to sleep, and then, too, he had just stared at her mutely, until she sheepishly returned to bed. It had taken him a considerable time and ever since Tisha liked to think she understood him.

"Down in the dungeons," Tisha continued, stating the obvious. She was rewarded a slight nod of the incorporeal head. "Is it Severus?" A nod, again, and Tisha turned from the promising marble staircase. "In his office?" With a satisfied expression, the ghost floated accross the Hall and through the wall.

"He could have at the least shown me the way," Tisha mumbled exasperatedly as she descended into the Slytherin realm. She blinked to keep herself away. Miraculously, she found the Potions classroom without difficulty. There was light coming from under the next door. She knocked and entered without waiting for a reply.

The office was brightly lit. There was a working table in the middle of it covered in a slimy substance, several jars that appeared to contain different body parts of animals, and a small boy with a large knife handling something very definitely dead - Tisha felt another way of nausea and this time it had nothing to do with Muggle-repelling spells.

"Hello, Professor," the boy said amicably. He, for his part, didn't seem disgusted at all - in fact, he looked like he was having the time of his life. From all Tisha knew about Robert Brocks, he probably was. She looked at her watch.

"What are you doing here? It's past curfew."

"I'm on detention," Brocks replied cheerfully. "I saw the Bloody Baron!"

"So have I," Tisha said dryly. "Where is Professor Snape?"

"Back in there," Brocks pointed with his knife, complete with the gut hanging from the blade like a morbid decoration. Tisha walked up to the appointed door, ignoring Brocks', "But he doesn't want to be interrupted," and opened it.

Snape was hunched over a cauldron, slowly moving the stirring rod with his left hand and scribbling notes with his right.

"I told you not to come here without a good reason," he threatened, not looking up. Tisha closed the door behind herself and watched for a while. Snape didn't seem to notice her at all; he continued stirring the potion, muttering to himself and filling the parchment with his notes.

"Do you know what time it is, Severus?" Tisha said sternly in the end.

"Let me just finish this," Snape hushed her impatiently. She couldn't tell whether he hadn't recognised her or didn't care she was there. He seemed absolutely absorbed in his work, and had it not been for the first-year in his office, she would find it adorable.

"It's," Tisha looked at her watch again, "quarter to two in the morning." Snape didn't respond. "Severus!" He jerked a little at the sound of his name and glanced at her, clearly annoyed. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Brocks brought this up during the lesson. Wartcap powder added before porcupine quills allows the quills to be added before..."

"Are you telling me that you are replaying the experiment the boy came up with? The one... the same one you gave him a detention for?" Tisha was on the verge of exploding.

"That's not the same. I can run an experiment without putting anyone else in danger," Snape retorted, turning back to his cauldron. "With the right timing, the theory can still prove correct." He started stirring the potion again.

"There is an eleven-year-old student in your office," Tisha growled.

"What does he want?" Snape asked absent-mindedly.

"You put him in a detention."

"Probably deserved it."

"I can't believe... you just... It's nearly two in the morning and you're keeping a child in detention for running an experiment you yourself aren't able to tear away from!" Tisha threw her arms in the air, but she could just as well started singing and dancing, because Snape was paying her no attention and appeared oblivious to her presence at all. "Am I the only one who finds that... that... Severus? SEVERUS! Are you even listening to me?" He wasn't. Tisha looked around the little room - a private laboratory - and tried to concentrate. Her knowledge about potion brewing was limited, but she remembered from times when she had wanted to help her father in _his_ laboratory that potions tend to lose their magical abilities if a Muggle - or a Squib, for the matter - tampered with them.

She picked up the first strictly magical ingredient she found, let it rest on her palm for a while and then threw it into the cauldron. The potion hissed and turned dully brown.

Snape, suddenly erect and with his wand ready, turned to her. His lips had become a thin line, his eyes shot daggers at her, and red spots appeared on his otherwise sallow cheeks. He was more than angry, but Tisha was angrier yet, and with all the Malfoy experience and dignity, she could control her anger better.

"It's two o'clock in the morning and you have a student in detention. And while an eleven-year-old boy works with a knife, unsupervised, in your office, you play with a potion and forget about time. What an _excellent_ example of mature behaviour." Her voice, low and icy, finally managed to get the message accross to Snape, who lowered his wand and stared at Tisha, uncertain about what to do. He cleared his throat and put away his wand, looked aside, then back at Tisha, who raised her eyebrows. Finally, it was her who broke the silence again.

"I suggest you go and release your student." Unusually obedient, Snape complied and having inspected Brocks' work, sent him off to bed. He put away the jars and cleaned the table and only when he put out the candles, he realised Tisha had remained in his laboratory.

He found her sitting on the only chair he kept there, with her head leant against the wall and her eyes closed.

"Is there anything else you want to yell at me for?" he asked as politely as he could, and also as acidly as he managed - which was usually enough to send a whole class into the hospital wing. Tisha blinked and shook her head.

"No. I'm off to bed. Sorry to have distur..." she trailed off as she spotted the cauldron and remembered why she had disturbed him. She cleared her throat and rubbed her eyes.

"Be careful not to get the snake fangs into your eyes," Snape warned her, sounding pleased, while Tisha's eyes errupted in pain. "The powder tends to keep to the skin and has a really unpleasant effect on the sensitive glands."

"Unpleasant?" In addition to having troubles keeping her eyes open, Tisha now experienced sharp stinging pain, half of her face seemingly on fire. As she opened her mouth swear, she felt cold touch on her chin, as Snape tilted her head backwards, and with a wave of magic washing over her, the pain subsided. She blinked again, this time to get rid of the remaining tears.

"Thanks." Tisha watched as Snape cleared the cauldron, measured the ingredients and started the fire again. "Do you ever sleep?" she asked in disbelief.

"Just one last try," he answered, in an experimental mood again. It was obvious he wasn't going to stop until he found an answer and Tisha wondered whether he would go to classes in the morning, if he didn't have it by then. She was tired, but the sleepiness left her temporarily and she decided to sit through the experiment, if not for anything else, than to make Snape stop after his "one last try". Snape usually tried to look as if he were merely watching the rest of the world, not really participating, and most important, never seemed to show any feelings, except when he was angry and out of control - but right now, as he bent over the cauldron better to perceive every single change of the potion, eyes fixed on the surface of its content, his features showed excitement and even joy, and Tisha sat back and reminded herself not to comment on it - as much as it was not probable Snape would listen to anything she would say right now.

It was mesmerising. And it also took years off of him - Snape looked and acted so old all the time, but Tisha knew he wasn't more than a year older than she. She wished she could record him like that, and with a pang of mischief, she wished she could show him the video the very next time Brocks experimented in the class. They seemed to be so alike - Merlin, the boy had been _happy_ about his detention, because it had been related to Potions. With a little steering, Tisha mused, he could become a star of the class.

Of course, Snape was more prone to give him a good _stirring._ Tisha giggled, failed to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop the treacherous sound, but Snape didn't seem to notice.

"So," he said when his work, as it seemed to Tisha, reached a point when it didn't require his full attention, "what were you doing up so late in the night?"

"I was at the Ministry. Some troubles with Malfoy Manor."

"I would have thought Draco would inherit it."

"He did." Tisha sighed, ran a hand over her face and went into explaining, "There are very complicated spells on the manor ensuring that it won't end up in the wrong hands. One of them disallows wizards and witches without finished education to actually run the manor."

"Really?" Snape bowed forward and started slipping porcupine quills into the still hot liquid. Tisha waited until he finished that and stepped away from the cauldron.

"Draco is ineligible as the Master of Malfoy Manor," she said. "He can be Lord Malfoy, but when he tried to sell the manor, it just didn't go through. But it still set off several nasty curses," Tisha added with a frown. "I didn't know about them. Apparently, it's not possible to sell the manor outside the family."

"I know. Lucius asked me to help with them before he... died."

"Several very, very nasty curses that hit all wizards and witches who had anything in common with the contract," Tisha said pointedly.

"Well, Draco should have been shielded by the castle wards. Did you get hurt?" Snape turned to her.

"I'm not a witch, Severus," Tisha explained tiredly.

"No, indeed. Of course, you can still be a well-concealed wizard." His expression remained calm and guarded.

"That's hardly a helpful comment," she sighed. "Of course, it can still be a well-concealed praise." This time, Snape's eyebrows lifted a little.

"So you didn't get burnt? There were several burning curses, if I recall correctly."

"What are you after?" Tisha asked suspiciously, sitting up. The curse hit her on the forearm and she cried out in pain.

"Calm down. It's nothing," Snape said impatiently. He took her by the elbow and led her to the cauldron, where he spread the result of his experiment on Tisha's abused skin.

"Does it work?"

"Next time you need a guinea pig, buy mice!"

"Or a guinea pig," Snape agreed, amused. "Does it work?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Tisha replied with an exasperated sigh. Snape released her arm.

"Then it works."

"You should give Brocks credit for that." Seeing the frown the remark had brought on Snape's face, Tisha continued, "It was his idea, after all."

"You should go to bed and not worry about my students," Snape growled. Tisha shook her head, inspected her forearm - the spot that had been burnt by the curse had turned pink and it tickled a little, but the sensation seemed to fade away already - and she left Snape to do whatever he pleased with his experiment. The sleepiness returned to hit her full force and she was once again longing for her bed.

Passing the door to the Great Hall, however, she noticed it stood slightly ajar. It had been closed when she had arrived in the castle, and there was only one person she could think of who could have opened it.

"Mr. Brocks," she called. The boy jumped up to feet from where he had been sitting on the floor.

"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" he asked in an awed whisper. Tisha followed his index finger and had to admit that the sight was quite spectacular.

There seemed to be a swarm of half-visible butterflies raising from the tables in the moonlight. The colour of their wings changed depending on the angle at which the moonlight went through them and the air around them sparkled as if some flickering dust were falling from the ceiling. The moon was already setting down and the stream of the butterflies was getting thinner before their eyes.

"This is all the joy and positive energy accumulated through the day," Tisha explained. "Just as all the teenager frustration manifests itself through Peeves, all the good emotions need to manifest, otherwise they would tamper with the magic of the castle. The energy of the youth is very strong."

"We... we created this?" Brocks' eyes seemed to be ready to pop out of his head.

"When you laugh. When you fall in love. Whenever you feel happy. Children just have more energy that they can use. It concentrates here, where students usually talk and share, and the moonlight brings it out. You're supposed to be in bed," Tisha added sternly.

Brocks nodded - it was too dark now to see his face, but Tisha guessed he didn't really feel sorry about breaking the rules. He was so curious - so preoccupied - so eager to discover everything - she didn't have the heart to take away points.

"I'll walk you to the tower. This way," she held the door open for him and carefully closed it when he passed. She really hoped the little Gryffindor knew his way around the castle, because she wasn't sure she could find her own rooms in the state she was in, and only the firm belief that Dobby would answer her call disregarding the late hour kept her from looking for a nice, comfortable place on the floor.

They walked through the silent corridors, up darkened staircases, passing windows opening to night scenery. There were very few candles still on, but thankfully the sky was clear and the stars shone brightly enough, so they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, currently in a deep sleep, without any accident.

"Directly in bed," Tisha reminded Brocks, who seemed to be willing to wake up half the tower to share his adventures. She waited for the Fat Lady to close behind him and turned to try and find her way to her own, so desired and distant, bed.

* * *

**A/N:** Reviews, as usually, keep me on the track and are highly, very highly appreciated.


	19. Lights In, Lights Out

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Lights In, Lights Out**

* * *

When Tisha entered the Great Hall the next morning, it was already after the rush minutes. She was glad, because the lack of sleep made her head spin a little and a full hall would make the matter even worse.

To her disappointment, Snape wasn't at the table and when she questioned Hooch about him, she learnt he hadn't appeared. Worried again - after all, he _might_ have started another experiment after she had left - she ate as much as she could, excused herself and headed to the dungeons again.

Students that were already standing in front of the Potions classroom glanced at her as she briefly paused at the office door. Tisha lightly knocked and entered. The office was empty, but Snape looked out of his laboratory.

"Do you not know you should wait before... ah, that's you."

"You weren't at the..." Tisha started while Snape was already back in the laboratory. "... breakfast." She followed him, looking around curiously. The table was clean, no ingredients in sight, and Snape was inspecting his cauldron minutely, tapping his wand against it occassionally.

"It's always better to check the equipment once again in the morning," Snape commented in a lecturing tone. He put the wand away. "Coffee?" he asked briefly before pushing past Tisha in the office. Befuddled, Tisha followed, uttering an unnecessary, "Yes, please," to the wizard who was already pouring two cups of steaming coffee.

"How is your forearm today?" Snape asked pleasantly as soon as Tisha accepted a cup and sat down on an uncomfortable chair.

"It didn't fall off," she replied coolly. She felt confused, but not confused enough to forget what had happened to her forearm during the night.

"That would be an interesting development. Does it itch?" Snape's eyes glistened eagerly and Tisha frowned.

"I didn't come down here for a check-up!" She put down the cup and stood up again.

"Then why did you come?" Snape asked as if it was the most normal thing in the universe to be unexpectedly cursed by a colleague in order to act as a guinea pig for said colleague and then willingly participate in any follow-up of the experiment.

Furious, Tisha mustered all Malfoy dignity she possesed and left without another word. Snape peeked into her cup; she had barely touched her coffee. He could not figure her out. Whatever he did, she didn't like it. And he had been _so_ polite.

* * *

Tisha left the door to the class opened while she was unpacking a crate with Muggle tools on her desk. Draco and Neville arrived together five minutes before the class was supposed to start and peeked inside.

"Come on in," Tisha called. The boys entered and examined the contents of the table with badly concealed curiosity. Tisha smiled.

"Do you know any of these?" she asked. They looked over the table again.

"This one is used in kitchen," Draco pointed at a cheese grater.

"Right. Have any idea what for?" Tisha picked the grater up and handed it to Draco. He accepted the tool and turned it over, obviously uncertain about its function.

"I got an owl from the Ministry," he said. "There's a problem with the manor. I think Hermione used this when making a salad of some kind."

"That's possible. And I was at the Ministry yesterday. You'll have to wait it out."

"Which of the many salads was that?" Neville queried, taking the grater from Draco.

"Oh, the one with tomatoes and that white stuff on in. I think."

"That was cheese. She grated cheese on this thing."

"That's why it's called a grater," Tisha explained and handed them a hammer. "Any particular reason why she didn't use a charm instead?"

"We were hiding in a Muggle settlement temporarily. So no magic at all, for safety reasons," Neville answered. "A hammer! I hit a Death Eater over a head with one. Hermione told me I hammered him nice." Neville chuckled, but Draco adopted a closed expression.

"He wasn't a Death Eater," he said quietly, remembering Goyle's face the last time he had seen it - watching as a pair of Death Eaters had dragged Draco before the Dark Lord to be tortured and killed. There had been a mix of morbid fascination and fear in Goyle's eyes, fascination by seeing someone being killed, and fear because Goyle must have realised by then he could follow Draco anytime should he fail in following Voldemort. Goyle disappeared after the war. Whether he had been killed somewhere and never recognised or whether he had used the opportunity to leave and start anew, Draco didn't know - nor care.

Tisha gripped Draco's elbow to get him out of the memories. He met her worried eyes.

"He never took the mark. Would have made a lousy Death Eater, anyway," he said harshly to cover his emotions. Neville cleared his throat and shuffled.

"Try this one," Tisha offered him a screwdriver.

"I jammed one of these through Vin... someone's hand," Draco faintly attempted to sound indifferent. At Tisha's alarmed look, he added, "It was on the same occassion. Using magic could attract more Death Eaters, so we did our best with Muggle tools."

"What did Hermione say?"

"That I screwed him up." Tisha sniggered.

"Okay, you have some very particular associations with common Muggle tools. Do you have any idea how Muggles use them to do any work?"

* * *

On his way from lunch, Snape noticed three students standing close to each other in a corner and decided to find out what they were up to. Drawing closer, he recognised Brocks and Jorkins practically gaping at an older student, Mendacius Thorton, who was showing them a cheap trick with a little illusion. He had a magical flame closed in a jar and by casting a Wingardium Leviosa, he made it disappear - or at least he pretended he was doing that. In fact, he was casting the levitation spell on a small piece of an invisible fabric inside the glass jar, and the fabric was what covered the flame. It wouldn't be an invisible fabric of high quality, Snape mused, rather a quite easily accessible low-quality thing that could be detected by an O.W.L. level student without difficulty.

"Wow, see, it completely disappears!" Brocks breathed out and asked Thorton to try again. Jorkins seemed to be awed as well. Snape curled his lip. Thorton shared a lot with the Weasley twins, he knew; a mischievious soul, restlessness and bad school reports; but he lacked both their skills and potential. Personally, Snape never really liked the twins, but he knew their achievements, or at least some of them, were admirable. This didn't apply to Thorton, who was just annoying, and Snape stopped right behind him.

"It does not _disappear,_ Mr. Brocks," he said and let his annoyance show. Thorton jumped. "It is merely hidden from your sight." That said, Snape pulled his wand and guessing the spell used to make the fabric invisible, cast a counter-spell. The fabric appeared inside the jar and, nudged just a little, slipped from the magical flame. Jorkins let out a little laugh. Brocks, if possible, looked even more awed, and in his current state resembled a house-elf - small, bouncing and with huge eyes. He was only missing a pair of flapping ears.

Thorton paled when the feared Potions Master turned to him. He was a fourth year, old enough to remember Snape in his worst - all student myths included - and without even trying, Snape could see his latest misbehavings running through his mind.

"Mr. Thorton, I believe you are aware of the fact that magic is prohibited in the corridors. The rule is repeated to the students every single September, isn't it?" Thorton nodded. "That's ten points from Gryffindor for breaking the rules and another ten for lying to your schoolmates," Snape added, enjoying the fear he caused to the student. "There is a very good reason for Professors to be appointed to broaden the students' knowledge. Be so kind and leave education to those who have the necessary skills and attitude." Thorton nodded again, scrambled to get his things together and left the place as quickly as possible. Snape considered taking away points for running in the corridors as well, but decided against it - it was never as satisfactory if the students in question didn't hear him saying the magical words.

Jorkins and Brocks were openly staring at him. Brocks opened his mouth to say something, but Snape interrupted him.

"Don't you two have a class right now?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back. Jorkins nodded, grabbed Brocks by the arm and pulled him away.

"But he's totally cool!" he heard Brocks saying before the two rounded a corner. He sighed. Of course, they were Muggleborns - they would be impressed by anything magical for _years._

* * *

"Ten points for lying to students. I had a teacher like that one year," Robert rambled on as they took their places in the Charms classroom. "He had to quit because he got cancer." Robert frowned at the memory.

"Hush, Flitwick's here," Elizabeth whispered. Robert didn't look too enthusiastic. From their first lesson and from the textbook he had gotten the impression that Charms weren't half as interesting as Potions. And as difficult. It was just repeating some words and some waving with the wand. Sure, there was some magic involved, but wasn't that in anything in the castle? He perked up a little when he realised they would be learning the same spell Thorton had just shown them.

He and Elizabeth got a feather to exercise on. Elizabeth tried the first, but didn't manage to get the feather to move. Robert, in his turn, succesfully made the feather jump in the air. He was so surprised he lost concentration and the feather fell back down. On his second try, however, the feather floated for several seconds.

"Excellent! Marvellous! Very good!" Professor Flitwick overflowed with praise and even clapped his hands happily. "Miss Jorkins?" Elizabeth concentrated and the feather twitched a little. Professor Flitwick encouraged her to keep practicing and continued his journey around the classroom, advising here and praising there.

"I tell you, Snape is the best teacher ever!" Robert whispered happilly when Elizabeth handed him the feather. The girl didn't reply. Quietly, she thought Flitwick did a far better job as a teacher than Snape and she was uncertain about the do-not-lie-to-schoolmates thing. Something about Snape's eyes made her uneasy, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. So she let Robert prattle on through the Charms, practised the levitation charm and thought about horses and fields in the shorter and shorter periods during which Robert levitated the feather to let it fall without any interest.

By the end of the lesson, Professor Flitwick approached them again and asked them to show him what they had learnt.

"You should work on the control, Mr. Brocks. That's very nice, Miss Jorkins, very nice indeed," he commented. Elizabeth had just managed - for the first time - to levitate the feather for ten seconds and then gently put it back on the table. "You should practise the movement, both of you."

"What do we have now?" Robert asked.

"History." Elizabeth carefully packed the feather among her quills so that it wouldn't break.

"Fine!" After their first lesson Robert proclaimed History boring, but he soon realised he could use the time to study a subject he was really interested in - Potions. "I've borrowed an amazing book from library. Want to see?"

"No. Someone should pay attention during the class." Elizabeth didn't like History much herself, the lecture was extremely dull, but she hoped with time they would come across some crucial points of wizarding history and the subject would overrule the teacher's voice.

* * *

Draco and Hermione cheered as they bottled the last of the herbal tea they were supposed to test. They still had two hours to write the report before they were due for Transfiguration, and then another half an hour between lessons - plenty of time!

Hermione started running a magic-detecting spell over each of the bottles while Draco hovered his quill over parchment, waiting for her to dictate the results. The young witch, however, didn't say anything, only slightly frowned and started again, trying with another spell.

"Problem?" Draco asked, dropped the quill and stood up to have a look himself.

"They are all magical."

"Cool!"

"But they shouldn't - according to Madame Chamomille, at least half of those herbs are not magically potent enough to allow that!" Hermione wildly gestured over the old book she had been using as a reference, their working place, left-over herbs and the bottled concoctions.

"But we were careful enough," Draco opposed. "We used a wooden spoon to stir and even lit the fire with matches and never used our wands until now!" Hermione reread the instructions, then opened another book to look up more information.

"Oh," she moaned unhappilly.

"What?"

"We used our hands."

"What?" Draco peeked over her shoulder, but couldn't find the reference at first. The book discussed general rules of brewing a potion. Hermione pointed to a small notion at a side of the page.

"Magical energy can be lost if a Squib or a Muggle handles the raw ingredients," Hermione read out loudly. It took Draco a while to make the mental sommersault and realise how exactly that related to their problem. "We would need to shield ourselves from the herbs to make sure our energy doesn't add to their natural potentials."

"Like, wearing gloves?" Draco suggested, picking up a pair of dragon-hide gloves.

"Yes, but those are designed to be used while brewing. They will convey the energy, not filter it." Hermione bit her lower lip. "I could try to find something, but we would need more time..." Draco drew the book closer and read the chapter, as if changing the person reading the words could alter their meaning.

"Hey... listen! This used to be an issue in shops where Squibs worked until safe containers for the goods became widely used."

"At least there was some effort to employ Squibs," Hermione answered absent-mindedly. She was reading another book. Draco's face lit up.

"Start the fire, we will need some boiling water," he said playfully. Hermione stared at him. "I have come to a solution!" Draco added mysteriously and shot out of the room.

Hermione considered contacting Madame Pomfrey, but then decided to take a chance while there was a chance. If they failed, there would be enough time to walk Draco to the hospital wing later... preferably at the time the Potions were supposed to start. She lit the fire under the cauldron with still warm water and put aside the books.

Ten minutes later, just as the water reached the boiling point, Draco returned with Tisha.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, then turned red as she realised Draco had truly come to the solution, and a very smart one.

* * *

Ginny decided not to go and see Blaise again that night. Sneaking out of the castle on a daily basis could easily become obvious to someone with watchful eyes. The girls from her year were already aware of something going on, there was no need to give them more clues. They wouldn't tell on her - no doubt - but they would talk sooner or later to someone who would talk to someone else, and before she would know it, the whole school would be whispering about her. Too much bother, too much trouble. She could escape the depressive thoughts by endorsing herself in her studies.

She picked up her Defense textbook to reread the assigned chapter. They weren't given homework as such, but Moody hinted there was more to the text than what met the eye. Probably a reference to something they should be aware of. He would most likely tell them the next time, but if she could get some extra credit for figuring it out herself, chapter two, here she came!

"You just don't like him!" she heard suddenly. She looked up. Little Robert had jumped to his feet and was glaring at Elizabeth angrily.

"I just can't trust him," Elizabeth hissed in response. Robert shook his head and stormed out of the common room. Elizabeth sighed and picked up the book Robert had been reading; Ginny noticed the word potions in the title. She looked aside. She didn't like Snape - and she thought no-one did - but she understood he had been crucial to their victory. He had saved Draco, helped Blaise getting away from his pro-Voldemort family, allowed Harry and his friends in the Death Eater's headquarters. Rationally, Ginny even knew it had been a sacrifice from his to kill Dumbledore; he had lost his only friend, the only wizard who had truly trusted him. She hadn't accepted that fully, and she might never manage, but she knew it hadn't been his own choice.

All in all, she felt she owed a lot to Snape. She turned to Elizabeth, caught her eye and patted the couch beside herself. The girl obediently sat down at her side.

"Snape's a sore, lonely, miserable man," Ginny said without any kind of prelude. "He likes to take away points for literally nothing, as often as he can get away with it. He barely ever praises anybody, except for... well he probably doesn't favourise Slytherins as much as he used to any more. But," Ginny said pointedly, "he's the best potion-brewer that walks this Earth, and I'm glad he's here this year, because he will force me to pass the N.E.W.T. even against my own will, if necessary. I couldn't dream of a better teacher."

"He's insincere," Elizabeth murmured, watching her hands.

"He's distrusting. You just can't read in his face."

"I bet no-one can."

"Good," Ginny concluded, imagining Voldemort sifting through Snape's carefully guarded mind. "It saved all of our lives in the war." Elizabeth's eyes grew wide.

"What war?" she asked.

"A wizarding war that ended this summer. If we had lost, the world would have changed and even the Muggles would have suffered. There was a dark wizard who wanted to rule to world," Ginny added when Elizabeth didn't seem to be convinced. "Snape acted as a spy for our side." She felt uncomfortable talking about that with a strange little girl. Elizabeth, however, wasn't content with this reply.

"Was it dangerous?"

"My... friend and two of my brothers were killed in the war," Ginny shot and felt her throat tightening. She needed out and headed for the door, hearing Elizabeth's faint, "Sorry!" from distance, nearly running all the way to the nearest staircase.

She realised she was going to the secret tunnel to Hogsmeade again. She should really break that habit; running to Blaise like a little girl whenever she felt down. She found a quiet corner and pulled out the map to look for Robert. There was no dot with his name on the map and Ginny remembered it might mean he was in the Room of Requirements. She could go and try to get in. Or at least wait for the boy and walk him back to the tower once he left. Something to kill the time, calm herself down and mull over... third-level defensive spells, right.

Right.

* * *

Snape watched his students file into the classroom and slightly frowned when Tisha came in as the last one.

"Don't mind me. I'm here just to run a little experiment." So she came up with some kind of a retribution. As long as it didn't interfere with the lesson, she could stay, he decided.

Neville handed him a thick roll of parchment. Draco and Hermione put a tray with labeled jars on their table and each placed a roll of parchment next to it, too. Hermione's was over the limit at first sight.

Snape examined the jars. They were sorted by the remaining magical energy, and as far as Snape could tell simply by that, they were sorted correctly. He ran a magic-detecting charm over some of them, with desirable effect in each case.

"What way of shielding your magic did you use?" he asked calmly. The tools that would allow them to do that were available, but usually not at short notice.

"You expected us to fail," Hermione shot, clearly disgusted.

"That was not my question, Miss Granger," Snape retorted, now truly curious. Obviously, they owed their good result to good luck, otherwise the young witch would be happy to have figured it out.

"We asked Tisha to handle the ingredients," Draco said lazily. Snape turned to face the woman in question. She smiled pleasantly. Snape frowned at her. She wasn't supposed to advise his students.

"Just for the record, it was Draco's idea," she added as if she could read his mind. Which she still couldn't.

"I read about it in a book," Draco explained unnecessarilly. Snape realised the two Malfoys were having an excellent time. It didn't make him feel any better.

"Very well. I'll take your essays." He collected the parchments and shot a venomous glare at Tisha, who chuckled and slipped out of the classroom.

* * *

Annoyed by the stubborn Room of Requirements, Ginny muttered a word that would make her mother send her to bed without dinner if she heard it. As she turned to leave, she heard voices approaching. She walked up and down, trying to find out which direction the voices came from, wishing for a place where she could hide.

A door appeared on the wall. Not hesitating any longer, she entered and quietly closed the door behind herself. With an ear pressed to the door, she waited until the voices of three or four students discussing fashion passed and died out.

"How did you get in here?" Ginny turned around. Robert had created a small room packed with crates, boxes, trunks and shelves full of various objects, all of it covered in dust, very much like the attic in the Burrow.

"I just wanted to be alone. Are you alright?" Robert shrugged and sat down on a large wooden crate, his back turned to Ginny. Ginny stepped closer, but didn't sit down or touch the boy.

"Lizzy thinks Snape is mean." Robert paused, waiting for Ginny to say something, but she wasn't sure she wanted to break to Robert that Snape was, in fact, very mean. "But he's so nice. He let me cut frogs and bats in detention." Ginny felt sick just thinking about gutting frogs and bats. Obviously, Robert liked it. "We had an argument." Robert looked down and uneasily shifted.

"That happens sometimes between friends." Ginny finally moved and sat down on the trunk.

"I don't know. I don't have any friends." Head hung, shoulders slumped, the boy made a pitiable appearance.

"And what about Elizabeth?" Ginny asked and rubbed his upper arm. Robert looked at her, eyes huge.

"Lizzy is my friend?" The amazed expression in the huge eyes made Ginny smile.

"Of course she is." Robert jumped up and starting circling the small room, mumbling to himself.

"I should apologise," he concluded in the end. He stopped and bent down to pick up a book that hadn't been lying on the floor before. Ginny peeked over his shoulder. It seemed to be a story about a boy and a horse, as the illustration on the cover suggested.

"That looks like a perfect gift for the occassion."

"But can I take it from here?" Robert flipped the book open.

"Sure. Go ahead, the sooner the better." Ginny practically pushed the boy out of the Room of Requirements and sighed in relief.

At least she didn't have to defend Snape this time.

She sat down in a comfortable chair under a lamp and started reading a Defense book she found on the table.

* * *

Annoyed and restless, Snape decided to seek peace in the only place that had satisfied his need in this regard lately: the statue of Harry Potter on the Hogwarts grounds. He swept through the corridors and the Entrance Hall, unbothered by anybody - it was, after all, nearing a curfew and most students were already in their respective common rooms - and descended into the garden that had been stretched and cultivated to accomodate the statue.

The pathways curved among thick bushes and slowly led him to the lake. Snape felt calmness settling into his soul already. Here, in the absolute solitude, he could contemplate his mistakes and regain his composure for the days or weeks of tedious students-overlooking that was to come.

Only he wasn't alone.

As he came closer to the statue, he noticed sobbing. He stopped before he could be seen and with impatience and annoyance watched a crunched figure on the ground before the statue. There wasn't much light, but the hair was unmistakable; it was Hermione Granger who had taken his favourite spot.

Briefly, he thought about joining her - surely his presence would evict her? But maybe she wouldn't even notice him. She was so lost in her grief. Snape watched her shaking shoulders for a minute, but when she showed no sign of calming down, he turned away from the statue and headed in the opposite direction. The pathway led him a little up, then curved back to the lake and finally left the garden. It copied the banks of the lake and mounted a little on the other side. On a good spot, Snape stopped and cast a nightvision charm on his eyes. At distance, he could see the statue now and also the sitting Hermione Granger, gazing up at the statue of her dead friend. A little adjustment to the spell could enable Snape to see her face clearly, but halfway through casting the spell Snape changed his mind and dropped the nightvision.

She could still be crying, after all.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to my husband, who died unexpectedly on Friday 20th March 2009. Your light has not gone away, love; it is merely hidden from my eyes.


	20. Waiting in the Dark

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Waiting in the Dark**

* * *

At first, Tisha didn't even hear the light knocks on her door, having been minding the fireplace - not that the fireplace needed any minding with an army of house-elves in the castle, but Tisha liked the way fire reacted to what she did. The second set of knocks was a bit louder and Tisha stood up, brushed her robes and opened the door.

"Severus," she greeted him with a nod, slightly surprised. They hadn't talked to each other since the morning and offering peace wasn't something she would expect from Severus Snape.

But maybe he hadn't realised she was angry with him and came to check up on her again?

"Tisha. It's your patrol night. I imagine you would appreciate company." Tisha tried to read in Severus' face, but - unsurprisingly - failed.

"That is very thoughtful of you," she said coldly. She wasn't in the mood for more riddles or even insults and decided to refuse as unfriendly as possible, and her mouth said, "And very true, too," for her.

What?

Severus smiled, obviously pleased with himself, and that grated on Tisha's nerves even more, but the only thing she could do without losing her pride was to smile back, go with him and think of a postponed revenge.

Tisha let Severus lead the way to the Gryffindor tower, where, as he briefly explained, most of the mischief originated. Except for that, they walked in an uncomfortable silence.

"I suggest we now take a roundabout way to the dungeons," Severus said once they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. The Fat Lady opened one eyed to give them a stern glare, but seeing a pair of Professors, she went back to sleep without a word.

Somewhere in the middle of a second-floor corridor, the silence became too silent for Tisha.

"Is it always so quiet here at night?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Severus replied grimly. "Usually, there's a lot of troublemakers running through the corridors. That on top of issues this building has on its own accord." He inhaled as if he wanted to continue, then slowly exhaled and, if possible, adopted an even more closed expression.

They descended to the ground floor, Tisha realised, and continued down a narrow staircase. Somehow they had evaded the Entrance Hall. Tisha tried to find out where they were by looking into every corridor they were passing, but with no luck. There was just pitch black there.

"Severus," she said quietly and stopped. Something moved in one of the corridors; something that made her shiver, although she was certain she hadn't seen any form - it could have been a mouse or a rat, or a cat, but Tisha was _certain_ it wasn't.

Severus looked into the corridor and frowned. He pulled out a wand and lit it with a whispered incantation. The darkness didn't really give way to the tiny light from the tip of the wand; if anything, it seemed even darker.

"Stay here," he ordered and pointed to a spot on the floor a little aside from the dark corridor. Tisha stayed where she was, in a full view of the opening. Severus didn't turn around to check whether she had obeyed. He advanced into the darkness, way farther then Tisha expected. She still couldn't see anything and felt inexplicably frightened. The fear was paralyzing her, and rooted to the spot, she heard an unpleasant, hissing voice, murmuring words she couldn't make out. Suddenly there was a high-pitched shreak, silenced abruptly, and whatever had been holding her in place was gone.

"Severus!" she shouted. The wizard emerged from the corridor, tucking his wand away.

"Anything else?" he asked in his most polite voice.

"No. What-"

"Let's go, then." He grabbed her elbow and practically dragged her down another fleet of stairs.

"What _was_ that, Severus?" Tisha asked angrily and jerked her arm free.

"Nothing. Just a... shadow of things that happened. Here we are at the Slythering dormitory." Tisha looked up and recognised, with a relief, her surroundings.

"A shadow?" she inquired. She wasn't quite satisfied with that answer.

"It will take some time until they are completely banished." Tisha shot him a disbelieving stare, one of her best, but Severus kept his eyes on the corridor before them and the stare was wasted.

"Splendid."

"You shouldn't come down here alone," Snape added.

"At night, you mean."

"Especially at night. But it does not make such a great difference in the dungeons." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the Entrance Hall and measured Tisha with a grave face. If she hadn't known him, she would have missed that little calculating glitch in his eyes.

"Thank you for your concern, Professor. I will take that into consideration should I ever feel it necessary to come down here." The glitch left Severus' eyes and he frowned when Tisha continued, "I think I can take it from here myself. Thank you for the company and good night." She turned and swiftly climbed the stairs, already cursing her pride. There were still two more hours of patrolling in front of her and she would do them all by her own - Merlin help should she run into another "shadow of things that happened".

Severus waited under the stairs until Tisha disappeared. He was effectively relieved from a duty the Headmistress appointed him - it was "offer Professor Malfoy a help with patrolling and, for Merlin's sake, do help if she accepts", not "force your help on her", right? Then he remembered the residual magic from the curse he had encountered not that far away from here. The castle had been swept, and checked, and swept again, countless times, but these things reappeared on irregular basis and Tisha was foolish enough to walk into an unused corridor.

Another quietly spoken incantation and Tisha's footprints appeared to Snape's eyes, lightly glowing on the steps. With a sigh, he followed them.

* * *

"Got any plans for Saturday?" Draco asked, toying with an old returning ball. Each time he threw the ball, it returned and attempted to hit his nose, only this old ball was defective and aimed for his forehead. He could get a training Snitch, he thought, this was far too easy.

"Getting green fingers in the greenhouses all day long," Neville replied from the armchair. He looked down at Draco, who was lying on his back on the rug, and asked in return, "Do you think of anything in particular?"

"Not really. Hermione, what about you?"

"Huh?" Hermione had found enough books she was allowed to check out of the library for a Friday evening and had been immersed in them ever since she returned from her walk. Now she was looking from one boy to another in confusion.

"Do you have any plans for Saturday?" Draco lifted his head to look at her. "Ow!" The ball accidentally hit his nose as it was supposed to and proceeded to do a little victory dance above his head.

"Isn't that a toy for small children?" Neville observed.

"Not really. When is that?" Hermione replied, nose buried back in the book. Draco snatched the ball from the air, shoved it down the back of Neville's shirt and leaned over Hermione's desk.

"Tomorrow, after Friday, as usually." Hermione turned a page and contentendly nodded her head.

"Honestly, you are no fun to be around. That's not what I've been promised," Draco complained, a little disgruntled by the lack of acknowledgement of his best intimidating posture.

"Ow!" Neville, who had fished the ball from his shirt, threw it at Draco, not realising the toy would turn back to him. Draco laughed, collected it from above Neville's head, and stored it away in its box. He then threw himself over another armchair, head and legs dangling over its arms.

"Maybe I can go to Hogsmeade," he speculated. "Pay a visit to Blaise. He is fun, you know. Hermione, do you want to go with me?"

"Only the red ones, I'm fed up with green," Hermione muttered.

"I guess I'm going alone, then," Draco concluded. "I'm heading to bed. Seriously, no fun with the two of you." With that he rose and - shaking his head in disbelief - disappeared in the bedroom.

* * *

"Late night again, Headmistress?" Minerva started and looked up.

"Severus," she sighed and pushed the parchment she had been studying away. "Late night, indeed. What brings you here? Can I offer you a cup of tea?" She raised the teapot only to realise what little was left in it had gone cold an hour ago. "Please have a seat, unless...?" Minerva took off her glasses to rub her eyes. Severus remained standing.

"There was another... shadow, Headmistress."

"Where?" The portraits started whispering among themselves, some leaning over from their frames to confer with someone else.

"Dungeons, one level above Slytherin dormitories, at a corridor near the smaller staircase." Severus shifted uncomfortably. Behind him, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore stopped pretending to be fast asleep and the eyes, void of the usual twinkle, watched him intensely - so intensely, that he knew about them without turning around to look.

"A level above. And it's the second time this week." Minerva rose and walked around the table to face the Potions Master. "Severus." He turned slightly and Dumbledore's portrait moved just inside his field of view. "It's getting worse instead of subsiding. And the last month has been _so_ promising."

"It may be the disturbing presence of students," Severus remarked, eyes fixed on Minerva's mouth. Because looking her in the eyes would be too personal. "Peeves has been unusually quiet so far. And the shadow was no stronger than those before, merely farther from the place." It was unnecessary to _name_ the place. Minerva remembered the night during which some younger Slytherings decided to take a pro-Voldemort stance. And they both knew how horribly wrong that attempt had gone.

"Let's hope that's all there's to it. Could you... no, I will talk to Alastor myself." She turned and scooped up the parchments from the desk. "Anything else?"

"Perhaps Tisha should not patrol at all, at least until we are certain about that. It's not a thing she can handle, anyway."

"Perhaps." Minerva moved as to extinguish the lights, then remembered Severus. "If that's all, Severus?"

"Yes, Headmistress. Good night." With a little bow, he left. Minerva walked to the window to look out. It was overcast and the night was very dark. A silhouette of a dark shaped moved before the window, then a bird perched on the windowsill. It cocked its head as it watched Minerva, who watched it back.

"It looks so grim," she whispered.

"Some things take time to heal," Albus offered. Minerva half-turned to him, then changed her mind.

"But how much time, Albus?" She sighed. "It's like there's nothing good in the future at all."

"Oh, you have to look at the brighter things more often!" The chuckle in Albus' voice was a little forced, but it did console Minerva a little. The bird on the windowsill started contentendly cleaning it's feathers.

"For example?"

"The new Transfiguration Master!"

"Oh, that's moving from pitch black to mundane grey only. This school is full of youth and joy, but I still don't seem to find any." To this, Albus replied with silence. Minerva put out the candles and walked to the door to her rooms in darkness.

As she was opening the door, she hesitated and smiled.

"Tisha," she whispered.

In the darkness, Albus Dumbledore's paintings' eyes regained the merry twinkle.

* * *

**A. N.: **I'm sorry for the delay! I have one more coming before what could be called "the first part" wraps up.


	21. Mischievious

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Mischievious**

* * *

The nature around Hogwarts, as many a wizard or witch remember, is beautiful and magnificent. The mountains rising at the horizon give the impression of overwhelming dignity, the Forbidden forest reaches as far as a human eye can see, and the lake offers an ever-changing sight.

Ginny was standing at the entrance to the Astronomy tower balcony and watching the scenery of sun rising above all the beauty. The morning was chilly and she was huddling in the warm cloak she had thrown over the school uniform. She watched a flock of birds rise from the Forbidden forest with annonyed cries, circle several times above the trees and disappear back among the branches at a place which - supposedly - posed no threat to them. A doe walked out of the forest together with a fawn. Ginny crept to the parapet and leant on it to better watch the young animal and smiled. The fawn was examinating its surroundings with curiosity reserved to youth, until the doe looked to the castle and with a startled sound led the fawn back into the forest.

Ginny looked for the thing that scared the animals away, but found nothing. Once a human body showed before her eyes; a crumpled heap at the base of the tower, and she realised she was looking at the spot where Dumbledore's body had hit the ground. Also, she was clearly imagining things, because the spot was empty. She was too tired of everything related to the war to dwell on that memory, so she hurried back to the Gryffindor tower.

The dream that had woken her up just before the dawning was different from her usual nightmares. She was walking through the school, the halls unnaturally long and eerie, occassionally meeting someone. Everyone she met was dying, and as the person died, their faces changed to the next one she was about to meet. First Cedric, and his face changed into that of Sirius Black; then Black died and then Dumbledore, Charlie turning into Harry followed by Ron, who finally turned into Snape. And when Snape died in her dream, Ginny woke up.

She slowly walked into the corridor that led to the portrait of Fat Lady. The grave feeling of something terrible coming disappeared somewhere along the way, but she still wondered whose face would have been next.

The Fat Lady cleared her throat politely and Ginny realised she had been standing in front of her for some time. She spoke the password and quickly squeezed through the opening.

"Morning," came a double greeting from before the fireplace. Ginny sighed.

"What are the two of you doing up so early? It's Saturday, you know." Elizabeth and Robert both chuckled. They were lying on the rug with a Muggle notebook between them, obviously planning something.

"It's a day already," Elizabeth exclaimed, pointing to the window.

"I know." Ginny raised her eyebrows pointedly, but the two first-years just continued giving her the best innocent look she had seen in ages.

Kind of reminded her of Fred and George.

"Oh, do whatever you want," she exclaimed. "Just don't break anything, don't wake up anybody and don't tickle any dragons."

"There are dragons here?" Robert jumped up to his feet. He seemed extremely excited again. It was so easy to get the boy excited, Ginny mused.

"It's the Hogwarts motto," Elizabeth said exasperatedly and tugged at his robes to get him back down.

"Enjoy your mischief," Ginny called, already climbing the stairs to the girls' dormitories. She grabbed a book from her nightstand and returned to the common room, not at all surprised to find it empty.

* * *

By the time Elizabeth and Robert reached the top of the Astronomy tower, the balcony was empty. Elizabeth climbed the parapet with Robert watching her anxiously.

"What?" she asked with a little laugh. She was used to climbing trees, and although she hadn't climbed a tree as high as the tower, the height itself gave her no trouble at all.

Robert, on the other hand, was well too aware of the possibility of her falling, and tugged at her robes.

"If you fall, you'll break something. And Ginny said don't break anything."

"But the view!" Elizabeth turned to look around. The charm of the dawning was already gone, but the girl still found the scenery breathtaking.

"I can see the hut from here," she pointed. Robert carefully looked over the parapet. Hagrid, the groundkeeper, was just leaving, followed closely by his dog.

"I wonder where he's going," Robert mused. At that moment, the big man stopped, took off his hat, rubbed his forehead and looked around. Robert pulled Elizabeth down from the parapet and the children ducked.

"Do you think he saw us?" Robert whispered, as if Hagrid could hear them.

"I can see you!" an upleasant voice boomed from the entrance. They both quickly turned to find Mr. Filch looming over them. "The Astronomy tower is strictly off limits for you outside your lessons!" And with a malevolent smile he grabbed them by their ears and started dragging them inside, all the way mumbling about all the things he would have done to them if only he had been allowed.

Mrs. Norris stood under the stairway, meowing loudly. Filch stopped planning torture for rule-breaking students for long enough to praise his only friend and continued on his way to his office. One floor lower, they ran into Professor Snape.

"Mr. Filch," the Professor said instead of a greeting. He looked at the two first-years who, by that time, were yelping with pain as the caretaker never released their ears.

"Professor Snape," Filch cried with uncovered joy. "These students," Filch pushed them forward, "broke the rules."

"That much is obvious from the way you were... forcing them to follow you," Snape uttered.

"They were at the Astronomy Tower."

"Is that so?" Although the question was purely rhetorical, Elizabeth timidly nodded and Robert looked ashamed. "Well, I believe we don't need to bother Professor Vector with that. She has a lot on her hands right now and doesn't deserve more." Filch's eyes lit up at that. Vector, as strict as she was when teaching, was much more lenient towards misbehaving students than Snape. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor each and you will both report for a detention with me today at five o'clock." With an impatient movement of head, he released them, and the two quickly walked to the nearest corner, behind which (not being under the official supervision any more) they broke into a run.

"Now, Mr. Filch, the door to the Potions classroom cannot be fully closed. Have a look at that before Monday." Snape turned away from the caretaker, not waiting for a reply. He had been forced to get up early by a sick Slytherin student - it had been one of the first-years and couldn't find the Hospital Wing without his Head of House - and afterwards had decided to walk a little private patrol. Some troublemakers, as had just proven, tended to start early in the day.

He finished his usual patrol around the highest floors and decided to head directly to the Great Hall. As he passed by Tisha's door, he paused and contemplated asking her to join him. It was not too early for the house-elves, but still before the Saturday rush hour. Chances were the Hall would be empty. Hand already almost on the door, he noticed a pair of Ravenclaws came around the corner and frowned. There was a knocker on the door, so merrily looking Severus had never before even thought about using it; now he bent forward as if examining it, lifted it a little, and abruptly left, letting the knocker fall on the door.

"Are you lost?" he barked at the two Ravenclaws, who quickly declined. "Then why are you standing here in the middle of the corridor? The Great Hall is this way," he pointed in the direction he was walking himself.

The students exchanged a confused look and followed him, much more slowly to make sure they wouldn't accidentally keep up with his pace.

* * *

Tisha hadn't slept well. She had unpleasant, confusing dreams, filled with hissing voices and high-pitched laughter. The voices, of course, were the same she had heard from the dark corridor the night before that.

The laughter she remembered from the time when she had been still living at the Manor.

She hadn't been directly involved in neither war. Lucius was ashamed of his Squib sister and made sure to keep her away from his friends, mainly other Voldemort's followers, and most of all from Voldemort himself. But she was curious and often tried to learn what those secret meetings were about. And once she overheard Voldemort laughing.

She took a long bath to wash away the sour feeling of the dream and the memory it had roused. As she was drying her hair with a towel, someone very lightly knocked on her door.

"Coming!" she called, or tried to - her voice failed her and she merely rasped. Shaking her head, she quickly walked to the door and swung it open.

The corridor was empty. Tisha waited for a while, frowned and closed the door again.

"That was weird," she said to herself in a low voice. Still not perfect, so she started humming.

"It's so good to see someone good-natured this morning!" The Nearly Headless Nick floated inside her room through the wall next to the door. "Please accept my apologies for entering without knocking, but I was lured in here by the beauty of your voice."

Not resistant to flattery, Tisha smiled and said, "Good morning, Sir Nicholas." The ghost beamed at her, happy to hear his own name used once in a time.

"Please do not feel at all disturbed," he begged. Tisha resumed humming while brushing her hair. Sir Nicholas quietly floated out of her room when he realised she wanted to change.

He continued down the corridor and up the stairs that led to the Gryffindor tower. The sunlight was coming in through the windows, making him close to transparent, so that when Ginny emerged from the Gryffindor common room, she almost walked through him.

"Nearly Headless Nick!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"No harm done," he answered, bowing to her chivalrously. Ginny giggled and made a little bow herself before hurrying down to breakfast. It was not a Hogsmeade weekend, she thought, but maybe she could slip out to go to see Blaise - sooner than after curfew. Lost in thoughts, she collided with Draco on the last landing above the Entrance Hall.

"Ginny!" Draco caught her with one arm, grabbing for the banister with the other.

"Sorry, I didn't... see you there." She stepped a little away from him and cleared her throat embarassedly. "You okay?"

"Yes, you?"

"Fine, thanks. Going to the breakfast?" They slowly descended the last flight of the stairs.

"Sure. I want to pay a visit to Blaise, see how he's doing, and I want to be there before he has to open the shop." Draco held the door for her.

"Oh." So there goes her plan, Ginny thought bitterly. She couldn't appear at Blaise's while Draco was there. Not that Draco would tell on her for leaving the castle without permission, but he would probably fail to keep that secret from Hermione, and Ginny didn't want Hermione to know how easily she broke the rules.

The Hall was almost empty. There were two Ravenclaws whispering at their table, Robert and Elizabeth at the Gryffindors', a small group of Hufflepuff and absolutely no Slytherin except for Snape sitting at the Head Table. Ginny frowned at him, to which he replied with his best intimidating stare, and that lifted Ginny's spirit a little.

"That's a nice plan," she said as joyously as she could. "Give Blaise my love, will you?" She tapped at Draco's shoulder and briskly walked to take a place next to the two first-years.

Draco slowly sat down at his place. Hedwig landed next to his hand, dropping a letter in front of him.

"For me, really?" He took the letter - it was for him and Hermione from Mrs. Weasley. "Better wait for Hermione before I open this." Hedwig gently hooted and hopped on his arm. He petted her and fed her a strap of bacon, shooting a sideways glance at Ginny. The two first-years next to her loudly laughed, looked at Snape and immediately turned very sheepish.

"They must have already run into him," Draco informed Hedwig, covering the feelings of jealousy over Ginny not even looking at him. The owl hooted once again and flew away, up to the windows below the ceiling and outside. She circled the castle once, not comfortable in the sunlight, and slipped into the owlery to sleep after the night flight.

Outside, the sun was rising higher above the trees, engulfing the castle and the grounds in warmth and brightness. A wave ran across the lake, as the squid swam close to the surface for a while, and from the top of the Astronomy tower it looked like a flash of light. The school was almost completely woken up by then, the corridors fully lit, except for the dungeons.

There, a shadow was lurking.

* * *

**A. N.: **Excuse me for a lyrical part. :)


	22. Live and Learn

Patchwork

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Live and Learn**

* * *

"Morning," Tisha greeted in a singsong as she was taking her place at the table, still three seats down from Severus. But as there was more then ten minutes to the staff meeting left, all three places were empty, allowing her to see more of the Potions Master then just the tip of his nose. Tisha chuckled at the thought.

"Yes, it is," Severus replied coolly. The planned regular meetings Minerva insisted on were, in his opinion, a total waste of time, and that he had to attend them didn't add to his mood. The fact that this was going to be only the first of them changed nothing on his already annoyed attitude. Minerva was conferring with Moody next to the door and Vectra and Sprout were whispering and giggling, not paying him any attention, so he frowned at Tisha, who sighed and rolled her eyes. She got up again and strolled to stand behing him.

"You're in a bad mood, Professor," she accused him.

"Under current circumstances, it is hardly surprising."

"I see," Tisha said gravely. "The eternal suffering of a teacher, plagued with ungrateful students, inept and infuriating, most of them unbelievably thick and the rest equally unbelievably reckless."

"If I didn't know you, I would say you agree with my opinions," Severus retorted, losing the hostile edge.

"If I didn't know you, I would say you like it," Tisha said mysteriously, not being able to come up with a better reply. Severus looked at her and she winked and returned to her place.

The rest of the Professors quickly filed in the room and took their respective places, each bringing a piece of themselves to the atmosphere. Sinistra brought a box with lenses to clean, Madame Hooch practically jogged in, Trelawney went three times around the table until she found her seat and Binns, the last one, floated in through the wall just next to the door never realising that. Minerva stood at the head and cleared her throat.

"I see we are all here, so let's begin. The sooner we start, the sooner we're done." She paused to allow Vectra and Sprout come back from the land of gossip and sat down. "First of all, has anybody discovered any problems with the timetables?"

"There's never been any," Flitwick said after five seconds of silence.

"There's a first time for everything." Minerva ticked something off on her parchment. "Any exceptional problems with students?"

"Except for Mr. Brocks being an improbable reincarnation of the Weasley twins and Miss Granger combined, not yet," Severus supplied when no-one else seemed to have anything to say.

"You've already given him a detention... twice." Minerva eyed Severus suspiciously.

"That happens when a student insists on breaking the rules... twice." Tisha smiled at that. For a second, her eyes met Minerva's, and what flashed in the Headmistress' eyes could only be described as a twinkle.

For ten more minutes, Minerva was listing mundane tasks and checking how they had gone through the past week. She seemed to have thought of everything.

"Very well. The shadow has appeared again," Minerva said matter-of-factly, when everything on the list had been ticked off. "Closer to the ground floor level." A collective sigh sounded as a response. Tisha felt instantly uncomfortable. She _knew_ what that was about, she had been there - but she seemed to be the one who understood the least of it all.

"At night, I hope?" Sinister asked, creasing her eyebrows.

"Yes, at night, and it was dealt with without difficulty," Moody answered quickly. "But it's a reminder for all of you to stay vigilant during the patrols, especially in the dungeons." He bent forward to make sure even the Professors on the same side of the table could catch his warning stare. "Professor Malfoy, I'm afraid you won't be able to patrol at night. These shadows need to be handled by a wizard or a witch."

"Of course," Tisha agreed, although not feeling very happy about it.

"The updated list of patrol nights is already available," Minerva added. "In case of troubles don't hesitate to call Alastor, Severus or me for assistance." Trelawney, being scrutinised by Headmistress, shifted uncomfortably and murmured something.

"The lessons of flying start next week, as usually be prepared for anything." Madame Hooch nodded at that and smiled. "The Quidditch try-outs are planned for next Saturday, please remind the captains." The respective heads of houses confirmed that. "And as a good news for the ending, a new Transfiguration teacher will be joining us after Halloween."

"Great!" Sprout exclaimed. "Who is it?"

"Constantinus Greeneye, if you remember him?" Minerva looked around the table. Most of the Professors recalled the former student. "A Slytherin, I believe he was the same year as you, Severus."

"That is correct," Severus said icily. "He used to _excell_ in Transfiguration."

"Very well," smiled Minerva, pretending not to have noticed the aversion in his voice. "Unfortunately his current job doesn't allow him to arrive earlier. Does anybody have anything to add? Excellent, the meeting is over. Next one in a fortnight." A sigh of relief was heard from those who knew Minerva had originally planned to have the meetings weekly. Flitwick made a quiet whooping sound when descending from his chair. He was leaving the castle after the meeting to spend the weekend with his family.

Severus remained seated until everyone except for Tisha left the room.

"Professor Malfoy," he said in the end. The Squib, standing by the door, slightly lifted her eyebrows and folded her arms on her chest.

"Professor Snape?" He rose and walked out of the room without another word. Tisha, however, decided to follow him, even if she had to almost run to keep up with his pace.

"The future Professor Greeneye who excells in Transfiguration doesn't seem to be to your liking," she attempted at a conversation.

"He always belonged to the inept part of the students."

"He may have changed." Severus snorted.

"Some levels of intelectuality cannot be cured."

"Are you saying he is an idiot?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare to say that." Severus stopped abruptly and turned to her. "You are saying that. And your office is down this corridor."

"I'm going outside. The entrance hasn't been moved from the ground floor, has it?" The look of feigned innocence made Severus frown.

"That would be an interesting development," he admitted.

"Of course, it might solve many of your problems," Tisha speculated as they resumed walking again.

"Which ones?" Severus asked and immediately regretted it.

"The most infuriating students would probably try to sneak out of the castle to commit mischief and they would have a hard time getting back unnoticed, since they couldn't reach the entrance from the ground."

"They could summon a broomstick to fly up."

"Unless they are also inept." Severus shook his head at that.

"Well, the entrance is right here, in the Entrance Hall, so I suggest you use it before it disappears." He stopped again as if he wanted to make sure she would leave for real.

"Please don't move it until I'm back," Tisha added before walking out.

* * *

Portraits curiously watched as the Headmistress and the Defense Against Dark Arts Master entered an unused classroom. Minerva waited for Moody to seal the room before speaking.

"How bad it really is, Alastor?" Moody exhaled and evaded her eyes, seemingly watching both the windows in the classroom and the corridor outside the door. Eventually he had to reply the demanding stare that was too intense to be ignored by simply not looking.

"It's definitely not a manifestation of children mischief. Although," and the wizard admitted that with visible loathing, "it most probably gets more power from that."

"So Severus was right about that," Minerva whispered. She turned from Moody and walked to the window. Everything seemed so bright out there, but she could feel something dark and chilly deep inside. A premonition?

"Have you considered the possibility that... that Professor Malfoy may not be safe... here?" Moody forced out of himself. It sounded very much like agreeing to Snape's original opinion on her presence, and that was something Moody wanted to evade as much as possible.

"Has the shadow actually hurt anybody so far?" Minerva turned from the window once again.

"It has been always handled by a fully trained wizard so far."

"Professor Malfoy is no worse off than any of the students," Minerva decided. "We can expect her to behave maturely and not to walk into the danger, too."

"Very well," Moody smiled. It sounded logical and it was not agreeing with Snape. He could easily accept that.

"We should inform the prefects. Those of them who are at N.E.W.T. level of Defense are able to learn the spell already, aren't they?" Moody frowned.

"I don't like the idea of students handling the shadow on their own."

"And I don't like the idea of students running into the shadow without being prepared," Minerva replied. "We will warn them against playing heros, but those who are able to defend themselves shouldn't be deprived of the possibility. They are N.E.W.T. level students, Alastor. They should know better than to look for adventure," she added in a softer voice.

"You are right. I can slip the charm in the curriculum, just in case. It's a little tricky at first, but most of them will manage and it will be a great exercise for everybody." Minerva smiled.

"Thank you, Alastor." She patted his shoulder and left. That sounded like a Moody happy to teach, and if he stayed happy to teach, then he would stay teaching even if his original motive becomes an empty dream.

* * *

"He didn't have to dive so early," Draco said and pushed away his bottle of butterbeer to draw a diagram. "See, there's the Seeker, there's the Bludger and there's the Snitch. The opponent's Beater was right here, but his own Chaser was coming through..." The sound of the bell interrupted him and Blaise excused himself to serve the customer.

The two friends were sitting in a small room just next to the shop. The door led behind the counter and the customers couldn't see someone was there. But thanks to the slow business on any weekend that was not a Hogsmeade weekend at Hogwarts there were no customers throughout the morning and the topic of their conversation settled on the last important Quidditch match very soon. Draco continued squibbling on his diagram as a friendly chatter between Blaise and a woman sounded from the shop, irregularly adorned with children's cries of joy.

"Sorry, the Quoterras are... very regular customers," Blaise muttered as the bell sounded again, this time to mark the customer's departure. "So you think Chasers are completely stupid?" He took the drawing from Draco and started explaining his own view of the situation which resulted in the poor Seeker spending several days in the Healers' care.

"Heard from Ginny?" Draco asked innocently, when he finally made Blaise capitulate. "I've only seen her once this week, she keeps very much to herself."

"She keeps in touch," Blaise replied and something in the way he didn't quite meet Draco's eyes tipped the other boy off.

"She's been here!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "How did you smuggle her out of the castle?"

Blaise looked at him like if he had gone mad, then forced out a smug smile.

"She can do all the smuggling without my help, you know."

"But how?"

"Oh, Draco, I can't tell you _that!_" The mastery of misleading is not telling lies, but telling the truth... and saying lies. There was nothing but truth in Blaise's statement, and still he managed to persuade Draco that he knew more than the blond.

"Never mind, I'll find out sooner or later." Draco got up. "I'd better go back. Might catch a learning session with Hermione in the afternoon." Blaise sniggered.

"What?"

"Nothing, just... It's funny how things changed, isn't it? Me and Ginny, you and Granger..."

"Hermione," Draco said almost automatically, suddenly pensive. "I'll drop by again."

"Okay, bye." He heard the bell sounded just before the door closed behind him. Slowly he started on the way to Hogwarts. Things had changed, certainly. Some of the Slytherins who used to look up to him were giving him nasty looks whenever they met, his former best friends were either dead or hiding, and his current best friends were Gryffindors. If someone would have told him, two years ago, how his so called mission would turn out in the end, he wouldn't have believed him.

* * *

The Hogwarts castle, always sort of in motion when nobody was looking, had many snug places where two or sometimes three students could talk in privacy without actually leaving the public area. A corner partially hidden behing a heavy curtain here, a niche covered by a convenient shadow there, a window at a place where the wall was particularly thick, so that someone could sit there unnoticed by anybody passing by until they came up directly against the window. Hermione and Ginny were sitting on one of those windows, sharing an uncomfortable silence and pretending the silence was friendly.

Hermione was holding the letter from Mrs. Weasley. It was a lenghty record of everything that happened in the household since she and Draco had left. At first, the girls were sharing the contents of the letter, but it soon came out Ginny had received a similar letter the day before that and was therefore properly informed.

"How's school?" Hermione asked just when Ginny decided to just get up and leave. The redhead shrugged.

"It doesn't seem difficult. What about you?"

"I feel like I forgot everything," Hermione admitted. "It's like I'm here for the first year, expect I'm excepted to have learned a lot already." Ginny looked at her as if the other girl had grown a second head, but said nothing. "You look tired," Hermione observed after a while.

"I'm still not the one who mixes up words," Ginny replied with a bit of real sting in it.

"I was testing your observation skills."

"I'm fine!" Hermione politely cleared her throat. Ginny didn't sound fine, to the point that it had to be obvious even to her.

But instead of admitting that and turning it into a joke, Ginny hopped down from the window and with a exasperated sigh just left. Hermione panicked. She had aimed at breaking the ice, but achieved the opposite.

"Ginny, wait!" She ran to catch up with her friend who had just disappeared around a corner. There was a door to a classroom, another corridor and a staircase running up and down from the spot there... and no Ginny.

Hermione sagged and unhappily turned to find her way to the library.

* * *

Tisha spent the morning wandering around the lake. As she was returning to the castle for lunch, she met Draco coming from Hogsmeade. They greeted each other and without saying a word continued directly to Tisha's office.

"I'll ask Dobby to bring us lunch here," Tisha offered when Draco settled at the desk.

"That may not..." Draco tried to protest, but the house-elf was already there, looking at Tisha with an expression of utmost loyalty. A moment of awkward silence passed as Dobby noticed him and frowned. Then Draco cleared his throat.

"Hi... Dobby. Nice... hats." A proud smile spread across the elf's face. Tisha used the change in the mood to ask Dobby for lunch and within minutes the Malfoys were served with speed and grace that reminded Draco of old days in the Manor. Except for Dobby's choice of clothes, Draco realised and suppressed a snigger.

"Anything funny?" Tisha raised her elegant brows in question. Draco, suddenly at ease, told her about his visit to Blaise, about their friendship and how things had changed.

"You promised you'd tell me about the Muggle on the photograph," he remembered out of the blue. Tisha pushed away her plate and leant on her elbows, leaning slightly forward.

"It's my grandmother's story, really. She passed it to Mother and Mother passed it to me."

"I don't need to be a girl, do I?"

"I don't think we have much of a choice. Someone should know about this." Draco looked up; that sounded like something serious and quite important. Tisha smiled.

"His name was George. Grandmother met him by chance when she was just strolling through a small Muggle town. They ran into each other exactly at a moment when a storm started and he offered her shelter. There was some kind of investigation by the Ministry undergoing and Grandmother didn't want to jeopardise that by disappearing right before his eyes, so she accepted. They talked to each other for half an hour, until the storm ended, then she left. But..."

"They fell in love," Draco said in awe.

"It sounds like such a clich, doesn't it?" Tisha laughed. "Yes, they fell in love and later met again. It went on for some time. But Grandmother was married to Lord Malfoy, a head of a pureblood family that insisted magic should be reserved for purebloods. So in the end she left him."

"And all that is left is an old picture."

"Well... no. She became pregnant and had a son." Draco recalled the family tree he had seen so many times before.

"She had three sons, right? Which one was that?"

"The youngest. The one that survived the great fever two years later, naturally."

Draco knew pureblood families, in their race after staying strictly pureblood, kept overlooking relations between the couples they wanted to get married - that is, as very often there were two connections between their parents, but only one was chosen to be displayed in the family tree. Draco knew that the interbreeding this led to could cause healthy issues... theoretically.

"Naturally... My grandfather?" he asked. Tisha nodded. "Did he know?" She shook her head. "So technically, I'm not pureblood?" Now she shrugged. A second - and young Lord Malfoy burst out laughing. It was an uncontrollable, hysterical laughter, during which Draco almost fell under the desk.

"Do you think there are more families like that? Pureblood basta... you know?" he asked when he calmed down a little.

"Oh, the language," his aunt chided him jokingly. "How would I... come in!" she cried out as someone knocked. The door opened and revealed Neville. He still had leaves in his hair, a certain sign he had spent the morning helping in the greenhouses.

"Am I interrupting anything?" he asked. "I heard someone having a hysterical fit." Draco started laughing again, but calmed down quickly because this time Tisha gave him a very malfoyish look of that-was-quite-enough.

"Guess what, Neville - I'm not a pureblood!" Neville shot Tisha a puzzled look. Draco completely missed the expression of displeasure that briefly crossed her face, but Neville noted it.

"I can just..."

"Please come in," Tisha sighed and got up to fetch one more chair to the desk. "At this point, Draco owes you an explanation, I believe." Neville closed the door and sat down at the table, politely listening as Draco retold the story, all the time watching Tisha's face. She seemed to be disgruntled by the approach Draco chose.

"That really makes all Father did pointless, doesn't it?" Draco finished with an air of satisfaction. "I'll be _so_ glad to put all of this behind me." Again, Neville noticed Tisha was frowning for a second before she managed to fake a smile.

"I should probably go and wash before the lunch is over," Neville stood up. "Thanks for the story." He put the chair back into its place.

"Have you seen Hermione?" Draco asked.

"No, but she might be in the library."

"I was hoping she could help me with Transfiguration." Draco stood up too, turned to Tisha and after a second of hesitation pecked her on the cheek. "See you!"

Tisha let out a deep sigh.

* * *

Hermione was, indeed, in the library, and even studying Transfiguration. She had brought several books to a little table in a corner and worked on fully understanding the last lesson, jumping from one book to another with every reference. She was so deeply immersed in it that she failed to notice Robert standing at the table for five minutes. Eventually, the small boy cleared his throat.

"Oh! Hello," Hermione smiled at him.

"Hi. Could I borrow Transfigurating Figured Out for a second?" He pointed at a relatively thin book, which in response rustled with the pages. Hermione picked it up from the table. The book was, in spite of its name, practically only a commented list of crossreferences that were somehow related to Transfiguration. It seemed to be pleased by the attention and eager to be read.

"That's very advance reading for a first-year," Hermione noted as she handed the book to Robert who opened it right away.

"I only need one paragraph... here it is." He stood at the table, lips moving and eyes quickly scanning the letters. The book made a disappointed sound when he put it back on the table.

"You've read it before, haven't you?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Just scanned it. It sounded interesting, but I didn't really understand most of the stuff." Absentmindedly, the boy caressed the cover and the book purred.

"And what are you doing now?"

"We're writing an essay for Potions. It's about..."

"Robert!" Elizabeth hissed from the nearest shelf. Madam Pince raised head from the book she was reading and tutted at her. Elizabeth tiptoed to Hermione and Robert.

"I want to go over the Transfiguration lesson and you _still_ haven't finished the Potions essay," she complained quietly. "It's already twice as long as it was supposed to be."

"But it's incomplete," Robert argued.

"What's in the first week of Transfiguration, anyway," Hermione said quickly. "I totally forgot with what we started." Robert, obviously annoyed by the change of topic, inhaled and opened his mouth, but Elizabeth was quicker and briefly summarised her knowledge of Tranfiguration.

"And what is it you don't understand?" Hermione asked and tapped on a nearby chair to invite Elizabeth to sit down. Robert hesitated for a second, but in the end his manners overcame his annoyance and he fetched his and Elizabeth's things from another table. Madam Pince again tutted when he bumped into a shelf on the way.

When Draco found them, the Transfiguration lesson was fully underway. Even Robert listened with unpretended interest, the more because Hermione, unlike Professor Snape, was willing to answer every question, even if it meant straying from the subject.

Draco decided not to interrupt and dragged another chair to the table. It made Madam Pince raise her head, and this time the librarian didn't tut.

"That feels like someone's turning my back into ice," Draco whispered. Somehow, the silence that spread around Madam Pince, made Hermione stop talking and both Robert and Elizabeth felt shivers running up and down their backs.

"What's wrong?" Robert asked nervously. Hermione shook her head.

"Let's put these books away and move someplace else," she suggested.

"Like the Room of Requirements?" Elizabeth piped in.

"What do you know about the Room of Requirements?" Hermione asked in awe. But noticing the way Madam Pince was still staring at them, she shook her head again. "You'll tell us on the way. Here, this one belongs into the last shelf under that window. Draco, these two are..."

"I know where they are from." The Slythering gratefully took the books. They were from the very back of the library, quite out of the librarian's field of vision.

All four passed Madam Pince as quickly and quietly as they could. Once outside the library, Draco let out a deep sigh.

"I think I won't be going to the library," he stated.

"So what's wrong?" Elizabeth asked again. Draco took her schoolbag for her and let her start on the staircase before him.

"Must be because I started the war on the wrong side. Madam Pince is not as forgiving as everyone else." Draco frowned.

"Draco, they're Muggleborns, they don't know..."

"Ginny told me about the war," Elizabeth said. "That there was a dark wizard. And that..." she stopped and turned a little pink. It occured to her that telling Robert that Professor Snape was also a war hero might make the boy insupportable. Like he wanted to talk about anything but Potions and Professor Snape already!

"That many people died," she said in the end. Draco had to stop for a heartbeat to overcome a wave of nausea. Once again, he remembered Dumbledore's face, so peaceful, when the Killing curse hit him.

Hermione, too, suffered from an uncomfortable memory for a second.

"That's true," she said in the end, a little breathless, but they _were_ climbing stairs, weren't they?

"Did you know them?" Robert asked.

"Most of them."

"Sorry," Robert mumbled. "See, we're almost here." He quickly paced the corridor up and down three times, and a door appeared.

"Ginny told you about this, too?" Draco asked.

"She's so cool!" Robert exclaimed and opened the door. Draco half expected to see lines of old broken or lost things in there; but there was a cosy study inside, with beige carpet, a bookshelf at the side and comfortably looking armchairs around a low table. There were paintings on the walls; Muggle paintings, Draco realised, a portrait, a landscape and a basket of fruits, all motionless. In the corner, there stood a grandfather's clock, loudly ticking, and next to it was even a window. The heavy curtains were closed.

"That's Grandfather's study," Robert said proudly.

"We can get back to Transfiguration here," Hermione remarked and sat down in one of the armchairs. She smiled contentedly and motion Draco to sit down, too.

"I hope the clock is accurate," Elizabeth said. "It's bad enough we have a detention, I don't want to come late."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't miss a minute of it," Robert exclaimed eagerly. Draco and Hermione exchanged a half-amused look. Most students would happily missed all of a detention, if it hadn't meant even a longer detention.

"What did you do to get a detention with Snape on Saturday afternoon?" Draco asked, leaning backwards.

As Robert easily jumped from Snape to Potions, and Hermione easily let him, the rest of the lesson didn't get anywhere near Transfiguration.

* * *

**A.N.:** Here it is! I noticed someone was reading the story, so I forced myself to finally finish this chapter (hint, hint, nudge, nudge). Next one should fast-forward a bit, to allow me to pick up a pace. Or make me, rather. It shouldn't be a diary.

As always, all reviews are deeply appreciated.


	23. Shadows

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Shadows**

* * *

There was something truly magical about how the pace of the days changed after the first week of school. As if it proved the timetables were correct (they always had been before) and every Muggleborn was really a young wizard or witch (as they always had been). The first years were still struggling to find their way around, but even they felt at home. As if they always had been at Hogwarts.

After the Quidditch teams held their try-outs and enrolled new members, the first Hogsmeade weekend was planned and Hagrid announced his first special lesson for the last September weekend, everything settled down. Even Minerva, although still with more to do than she could comfotably handle, noticed how things became easier.

And still, the yesterday evening's mail didn't learn how to handle itself.

The Headmistress returned to the letter from the Ministry. It was a request, really - and not very polite. It had arrived late in the evening and had been put aside at once. Minerva tapped the parchment with her quill, leaving sharp dots across the letters. She stood up and started pacing the office, eyes gliding over frames of the portraits, as if she daren't look at her predecessors. But she couldn't avert her eyes quickly enough from Dumbledore's portrait, and she couldn't not notice how peacefully he looked.

She couldn't keep asking advice from dead people all the time.

With a soft feline sound she sprung from the top of the stairs, changing into her Animagus form almost immediately. The world around her shifted - colours changed - voices unpickable by a human ear echoed in her head - a range of smells drew a fourth dimension to lead her around.

The cat slipped through a small opening into an alcove behind a statue in the corridor. A smell of alcohol made her back further in the shadows - Professor Trelawney was at the Headmistress' door, knocking loudly. The cat suppressed an urge to hiss and the Divination Mistress finally left, a little unsteadily. As the echo of her steps died out, the cat ran down the corridor in the opposite direction.

A large group of students was leaving the Great Hall after lunch, chattering and filling the stairs with the energy of the youth. The cat easily evaded them, using pathway only accessible to small creatures. There she met Mrs. Norris, who hissed at her in a hostile manner - Filch's cat never really liked this strange being and the fact that this cat didn't seem to suffer from getting older only added to the heat.

"Ginny!" The cat looked around. There she was - the youngest Weasley - red hair framing her face with that old, tired look which really had no place there. And here came Neville, briefly hugging her.

"How are you? I haven't seen you since... well," he cleared his throat, "I can't believe we both live in the same castle." Ginny laughed and drew a little away from him.

"I'm fine," she replied. "How about you?" To human eyes, Minerva mused as an awkward conversation continued, everything might seem alright - but to her feline senses, it was clear the girl was anything but alright. She didn't even smell right. The tragedy of her family - the loss of the one she loved - it was still within Ginny, forced to remain contained, threatening to break her. But Neville, of all people Neville, would notice that, too.

As the two friends walked down the corridor, the cat ran in the opposite direction. When passing the Muggle Studies classroom, she stopped for a while. Tisha's voice sounded from behind the door as the young woman was lecturing. The cat purred contently. Tisha seemed to enjoy teaching and most of her students seemed to enjoy her class. Granted, the subject was optional, so Tisha didn't have to teach so many students absolutely uninterested in it. But the Headmistress still awarded herself a mental pat on the shoulder for this new professor. Good job, Minerva, mission accomplished.

Her next stop was the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom. It was clearly a practical lesson. She could hear Moody barking instructions over a somewhat uncertain murmur of incantations. She ran away when she felt the touch of his magical eye on her fur. Oh, that eye! At least, in her cat form, she could feel it looking at her.

The castle was offering her passages inaccessible to humans, as if it were a living being at her service. She let it lead her - she really had no plan to go by - and concentrated on the pleasant workout as well as everything the castle seemed to want her to see.

"There, hold him like that - don't be afraid, this doesn't hurt him - see his ears? That means he's happy." A bunch of Gryffindors, mostly first-years, were standing at large windows not far away from their tower. Elizabeth Jorkins was showing one of her schoolmates how to handle a kitten. Minerva made a mental note to introduce her to Hagrid soon. The large groundkeeper, although as friendly as ever, was treated with something between respect and fear by young students. But Elizabeth had a lot in common with the half-giant, that much Minerva could tell.

Elizabeth blushed as the owner of the cat thanked her, while two remarkably wild boys used the opportunity to cheer and dance madly in the corridor, and the students parted, some of them going into their common room and the others heading outside. Minerva jumped up on the now vacant windowsill and looked out of the window. Hagrid was crossing the grounds, Fang in tow. There were several groups of students at the lake, mostly sixth and seventh years - and miraculously, some of them were even reading books.

She lightly jumped off of the windowsill and took a roundabout route towards the Entrance Hall. She picked up fragments of student's conversations and found them comforting. Everything was working fine.

A group of students walked up from the dungeons and two Gryffindor girls joined another girls waiting for them under the Marble Staircase.

"So?" one of the waiting girls cried out.

"Per-fect!" one of those coming from Potions lesson replied. Minerva recognised Romilda Vane. They had to be talking about her new "true love". Poor boy, Minerva thought.

The girls giggled and started asking Romilda about the boy in question. The black haired witch laughed happily and leant on the wall.

"He is the true hero," she said with a dramatic wave of her hand. "You wouldn't believe the stuff he knows."

"Everyone knows he knows stuff," one of the girls objected.

"It's not the same! Not at all!" Romilda cried. "I mean, Moody knows his stuff, and Flitwick, and McGonagall could turn you in a toad in a heartbeat, but _Snape_... Mmm." The sound Romilda made was absolutely inappropriate for a student. At least in Minerva's opinion.

Romilda pushed herself off of the wall and led her friends up the stairs. Minerva followed them curiously.

"Do I look good? I think he was, you know, checking me out." Minerva doubted that from the depth of her heart, although it troubled her how Miss Vane disregarded any reason in her madly-in-love state.

"You mean checking out how to get kicked out of the school?" It was the same girl who spoke up before - Patricia Pitty. She was a little overweight, but merry and smart. She used to be a lone girl mocked by the others - they called her Patty Pitty - until they found out she was the only one in the year who understood almost every lesson as soon as it was lectured. Romilda and her flock of silly girls accepted her, as they really couldn't keep their grades up without her help.

"That would be romantic," one of the silly girls commented.

"Sure, no job, nothing to do all day," Patty laughed. "Very heroic."

"You're just jealous because you don't have a boyfriend," Romilda frowned.

"You don't have a boyfriend either, just someone to fawn over. Oh, should you know how many fathoms deep I am in love," Patty proclaimed, raising one hand over her eyes. "But it cannot be sounded - my affection has an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal."

"What does Snapey have to do with Portugal?" Romilda threw her arms in the air in dismay. Patty rolled her eyes but didn't reply.

Minerva, who unlike the girls recognised the author, slipped into an elves' staircase and took a shortcut back to her office. As long as Patricia was around the girls, she would keep them within some limits - otherwise, knowing Romilda Vane, the crush could escalate into something quite ugly.

She didn't turn back until she was standing next to her desk in the office. She tapped a quill with her wand, cleared her throat and dictated, "Dear Miss Jones, I have to inform you that Miss Hermione Granger will not be able to attend any hearing at the Ministry regarding the events of this summer until the end of this semester. She is now a student of Hogwarts and has to concentrate on her studies. It is against her best interest and the purpose of this school to be disturbed during her final year at Hogwarts. Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress."

* * *

Hermione didn't have the slightest idea about having narrowly avoided yet another hearing at the Ministry. She was waiting with Draco and Neville for their Defense lesson.

Moody arrived with a five minutes' delay. He let them in the classroom, and quite uncharacteristically, cleared his throat before he started the lesson.

"We shall detour from the curriculum, although I'm convinced you won't be delayed by that for long. How much do you know about the shadow?" he barked. The trio exchanged confused looks. "Well?"

"Nothing," Draco said and added, as an afterthought, "sir."

"One would say your good friend Professor Snape would have informed you." He accompanied the comment with a sneer that, in Neville's opinion, could measure with the worst of Snape's.

"The shadow is a bit of residual dark magic that has been troubling this school since last April. I will show you a charm that can drive it away when it emerges."

"Um... what _kind_ of residual magic?" Hermione asked.

"Dark Arts," Moody scoffed. "Now, this charm..."

"But what curse left it behind?" Hermione queried relentlessly.

"And what does it do?" Neville joined in. "What are its dangers?" Moody frowned.

"So far there has been no injury," he dismissed their questions. "You are about to learn to banish it."

"Banish it for how long?" Hermione asked. "It's clear that this... shadow keeps returning." Moody looked around the small group of students. They were all staring at him expectantly, wands in hands, but lowered.

"Sit down," he motioned. He waited until the scraping of chairs on the stone floor subsided. "Shortly before the final battle, a group of young Slytherins decided to show their appreciation to the _Dark Lord_." Moody trained one eye on the ceiling, the magical one turned at the door, and hobbled back and forth between the students' seats. "It is unknown what ritual they were trying to perform and highly uncertain what they hoped to achieve. They were killed, and for several hours, there was direct line to You-Know-Who."

Hermione appeared to have a question, but held herself back. Moody didn't acknowledge he had seen it, although he did fleetingly note how not spitting out questions and answers made her look somewhat prettier.

"That is how Death Eaters got inside Hogwarts that night. We managed to fight them off and close the connection, and we thought we were done." He paused for a moment, seemingly watching something behind him. "But after the second battle, after You-Know-Who died, the shadow started to show in the dungeons. Every night at first - although Headmistress herself devised the charm to banish it and administered it - then less and less often. End of summer, the thing was gone. Or at least we thought so."

He stopped at his desk and leant on it.

"Now, as for theories about it, I have none that hasn't been proved wrong."

"Which are?" Hermione asked, tilting her head. Moody considered her for a second, then hurled a number of latin words neither Neville nor Draco comprehended. But Hermione seemed to understand - her eyebrows drew up as she noted a long list with her minute scribble.

"I think I could..." she started, contemplating her notes.

"I think you could learn the spell already," Moody barked. "Get up and wands ready! I'll show you once, so pay close attention!" They hurried to line up in front of the desks. Draco shot a wry smile at Neville, who arched an eyebrow in question.

"Library?" the blond mouthed and grinned.


	24. Passion

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Passion**

* * *

A squirrel nested high in a tree in the Forbidden Forest was roused from its sleep and froze in fear as a huge silent shadow passed along. But it was lucky; the spider wasn't after such a small animal. It was stalking a bigger prey.

Its prey was stealthily moving through the ground vegetation, and the spider picked up its pace. Silent and unseen, the arachnid crept through the branches several feet above and after the being on the ground. It didn't recognise the smell of it, but it recognised what the smell meant. Warm blood and a good meal, and the spider nearly clicked its fangs in anticipation. It hadn't eaten in many weeks and was, in fact, close to starvation. The more appealing seemed this strange creature beneath the trees. Just mustn't allow it to leave the forest.

The prey stopped at the very edge of the forest. The castle lay ahead, attracting attention with all the light pouring out its windows. It was close to the curfew and groups of students from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw could be seen heading to the bathrooms and back to their towers. Their laughter and chatter couldn't be heard, though - the forest became rather quiet. The spider lowered itself noiselessly just at its prey and reached.

A movement, a flick of light and a curse hit it. The four pairs of legs curled in death and the spider finally made a sound, falling to the ground with a dull thud. The eyes of the wizard who killed it never left the castle. His grip on the wand tighened as he saw a man and a woman walking together in a vivid discussion, and his knuckles turned white. A flash of passion, of fiercy hatred, passed his eyes.

"Snape," he hissed.

* * *

"Hagrid's project seems to be the talk of the castle," Tisha mused.

"As it should be," Severus replied airily. "There is a good reason to be wary of Rubeus Hagrid breeding _anything_, let alone breeding something in a closed facility. Experience teaches us to learn about the dangers he can pose to the school and everyone within."

"So you don't know what it is either?" his companion asked without bothering to cover her amusement. She could notice the slight marks of being offended in the way Snape didn't show being offended.

"I haven't been informed." The air of dignity he assumed made Tisha feign interest in the nearest portrait, otherwise she could chuckle, and really offend him.

"That's the point of a surprise," she said when she regained full control of her voice. This time she caught it - the quick questioning glance that told her more than anything the man beside her didn't fully understand the train of her thoughts, but was intrigued enough to continue the game. Her game, by her rules.

"I believe this is where we part..."

"Tisha!"

"... and also this is your nephew," Snape finished smoothly, although he hadn't noticed Draco sitting on the windowsill, and frowned. That they had reached Tisha's door didn't mean they were going to part immediately, but the blond provided unwelcome change.

"What is it, Draco?" The young man's face was a tale of suffering: red eyes, running nose, and an overall miserable expression.

"I'm sick," he announced somewhat unnecessary. There was a silent plea in his eyes, which of course he wasn't going to voice until he was also Confunded and hit over the head with something heavy. Or unless he could turn it into a command, but it wasn't necessary.

"You poor thing," Tisha cooed soothingly and drew him closer to gentle pet him.

"That is why wizards and witches keep working on powerful potions. For example, I believe Madame Pomfrey..."

"Pepper-Up makes smoke go out of my ears!" Draco interrupted forcefully, turning from Tisha to deliver the statement. "And it makes my eyes burn," he whined, turning back, as it was clear he would receive no sympathy from Snape.

"If you do not wish to get better, Mr. Malfoy..." Snape let his voice drawl, but to no effect. Tisha had slung an arm around Draco's shoulders and was already offering to nurse him back to full health without nasty potions with side effects.

"Thank you, Severus, and good night," she added, never stopping her fussing over the young Lord Malfoy, who was becoming more juvenile by second. He didn't forget to turn back to his former Head of House, offering a neutral greeting and superlicious smirk.

Snape moved away, before he was tempted to remove the smirk by, say, forcing a Pepper-Up Potion down the boy's throat.

* * *

"Here's your tea and put this in with you, it will keep you warm." Tisha had tucked Draco in her own bed and mothered him in the same way she could remember her own mother treating a sick Lucius. He too had been reluctant to have smoke come out of his ears, and it seemed his ability to suffer like a little baby was inherited by his only son.

"Thank you," came a muffled reply, as the boy took the mug with both hands. Not having inherited Lucius' habit of accepting any favour as if he had the holy right to be pampered, Tisha mused and fondly petted her nephew.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked gently. Draco started shaking his head, then stopped himself and looked at her with a shy, uncertain expression.

"Read to me?"

* * *

As he was returning to his hut from preparing his first lesson, Hagrid noted that the forest was unusually quiet. He frowned. He spent at least an hour every day trying to find out what was wrong with the place; more than that, if he could afford it. But every time it seemed he found the cause, a few days passed and the strange feeling of something wrong descended upon the trees again. He was half moved to go and check right away, but he remembered the first-year Gryffindor who should come to see him soon.

"Fangs, heel!" The dog didn't need much encouraging and skipped from the forest edge to the relative safety of Hagrid's vicinity. He was the first of the two to reach the cabin, and the girl waiting there.

"Professor Hagrid?" the girl said and stood up. She scratched Fangs behind the ears, earning his friendship at once. "I'm Elizabeth Jorkins. Professor McGonagall told me you could help me."

A light appeared at the edge of forest for a fraction of second. If either of the two looked that way, they may have noticed a shadow moving within deeper shadows and maybe, if their eyes had been sharp enough, they would have recognised the swish and flick of a wand. But they didn't look that way.

* * *

"And they lived happily ever after," Tisha finished and closed the book. Draco appeared to be asleep, so she reached over his head to extinguish the candle.

"Can I ask you something?" Draco asked without opening his eyes.

"Of course." She drew her hand back into her lap and cocked her head.

"How did you and Professor Snape meet? I mean," here he opened the eyes, "you've met before Hogwarts, didn't you?"

"Oh. Yes. Well, he used to be friends with your father." Tisha cleared her throat. "He would come often - more often then some of the others, even - we passed each other in the halls sometimes. Lucius didn't introduce us, of course."

"Of course?"

"I was a disgrace to the family, wasn't I?" Draco had no answer to that. He unburied one of his hands from under the covers and moved as if reaching for her hand, but in the end just plucked at the cover. Tisha didn't seem to notice.

"That's nonsense," Draco muttered in the end.

"It was a valid reason then. Anyway, Father - my father - liked Severus very much, and he even suggested we should get married. To purify the family, probably."

"Huh."

"It didn't go through, of course."

"What did Snape say?" Draco asked curiously.

"Oh, it never got that far." Tisha chuckled to herself. "Lucius threw quite a fit. Apparently, the idea wouldn't appeal to the Dark Lord, so..."

"Vol.. Voldemort," Draco said forcefully. "His name was Voldemort." Tisha looked at him curiously, but didn't say anything. "I've learnt that much," Draco added.

"You should be resting. And here I am, boring you with inane stories. There, finish your tea." It was rather cool already, but Draco still obediently drained the mug before settling for the night.

"I like your mug. Very homey."

"Good night, Draco." He drifted into sleep, so he may have imagined it, but he thought he didn't, and Tisha had really pressed a kiss on his forehead.

* * *

Snape was sitting in his armchair, the other one mercifully vacant for tonight, and held a book he hadn't been reading in years. Once it had been his favourite, his guide through the dark arts and all mysteries of terrible magic. And he was opening it again.

He ran a long finger down its spine. The cover was made of fine leather and it had an exquisitive feel. He adjusted the light of the nearest candle and opened to the index.

There was a letter there.

A piece of parchment, folded in half, and his name appeared on it in front of his eyes. Yes, it was a letter, and it was for him, and he already knew who had written it.

He put aside the book and unfolded the parchment.

"My dear friend Severus," it started in Albus Dumbledore's neat manuscript. "That you are reading this letter means two things: first, that you are alive, and I am grateful and very happy for that. Perhaps you do not believe me now, but I did wish for you to survive, and find your place in the world to come after the war.

"Second, you are opening a book on Dark Arts again, against my hopes. For years I had hoped you would not fall for this trap again. Do you not know how much you have paid already for this passion of yours? Do you not realise what you have lost, traded for dark arts? And still you return to this.

"I have no more power over you - and I will admit now that I have exercised it in the past, and even that your best interest was not my first and uttermost incentive in all the times I have done so. But please believe me it is my only motive now. The one and only reason why I wrote this letter is to protect you from repeating this one mistake. I have no longer any right to give you orders or any means to persuade you aside from this: I beg you, Severus. You have lost enough. Do not lose yourself in the Dark Arts.

"With both Lily and I gone, you may feel alone in the world. I cannot promise you that will be untrue for the rest of your days. I am not in a position to promise you anything and I am frightened by what may lie ahead of you. I cannot see the future. But I have seen what you have nearly become. Please do not read this book."

Snape carefully folded the parchment and put it down next to the book. He felt an urge to burn the parchment and all bridges behind himself. He had felt manipulated at times - here the old wizard admitted to the manipulation. And yet at the same time he felt shaken and touched. If he had a habit of talking to himself, he would have been left speechless by the letter.

The thought amused him and he picked up the letter again. He didn't open it, just traced his name with a thumb, and then tucked it in his robes.

"Dear friend," he said. "Well, my dear friend Dumbledore, I need to read this book, believe it or not, to purge some dark arts from this castle. I will keep your wishes in mind and will do so while not enjoying myself." He reached for the book.

A wave of fear washed over him as soon as he touched the leather and he stopped dead. The fear was deep and paralysing and made him want to run and hide for the fraction of second he needed to control it. And already it was subsiding, leaving his senses tingling.

The amusement he had felt vanished. He touched the letter in his pocket with his free hand, but that didn't make him feel any better. Something was wrong.

He looked at the book, still touching it with his fingertips, and slowly withdrew his hand.


	25. Coldhearted

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Coldhearted**

Elizabeth was hurrying towards the Gryffindor Tower, as it caught up with her.

The fear.

She was suddenly so frightened she nearly cried out, she had to stop and lean on a wall. She looked up and down the Marble Staircase, but there was no-one there - it was already five minutes after curfew. She had waited for Hagrid for too long, and in spite of her asking questions as quickly as possible, she had been rushed out of the hut and walked to the castle before she had got through all of them.

And now she was frightened by nothing, apparently.

She pushed away from the wall and ran up the rest of the stairs. She couldn't care less if she were caught breaking the rules, she longed for the company of other Gryffindors and the safety of their common room. She didn't slow down until she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Now, what time is this to come back to the tower?" the Fat Lady tutted, while Elizabeth fought to catch her breath.

"Chocolate cupcakes," the girl managed and the portrait swung open.

"Where have you been?" The common room was already empty except for Robert, which was rather strange just a few minutes after curfew.

"I went to see Hagrid, to talk about Camilla's Kneazle..." She trailed of and on impulse, the children hugged. They held on for comfort. For more than a minute, nothing could be heard except for the fire working through the last log in the hearth.

"There's something in the castle," Elizabeth said at the same moment as Robert blurted out, "There was something in the common room!"

They broke the embrace and stared at each other.

"You felt it too?" Elizabeth nodded, eyes large.

"Do you think we should tell the teachers?" she asked. Robert shook his head.

"Tell them what? We need to find out what's going on first."

* * *

The sudden feeling of fear hit Ginny while she was leaving the Room of Requirement. She stood for a while, eyes closed, wand ready and ears pricked, but whatever caused the fear had vanished as quickly as it appeared and as quietly as the door she had closed behind herself. There seemed to be nothing to be afraid of.

She headed towards the Gryffindor Tower, panic still urging her to hurry. She didn't notice how - maybe the castle had rearranged itself yet again - but she stopped in from of the statue of the one-eyed witch.

Ginny nearly turned around, only she heard Mrs. Norris' hissing drawing near - and a quiet Dissendium later, she was down in the secret tunnel.

Mrs. Norris passed the statue, never noticing a student had been there moments ago. She was chasing shadows no human being was able to see, flicking and flying shadows which filled the cat with terror. Showing an extraordinaire courage, she went after them, hissing, clawing and even meowing loudly, until they all disappeared again and only the terror remained.

* * *

"What was that?" The portraits started murmuring to each other, disputing in hushed voices. None spoke to the Headmistress, and she knew the feeling of dread that had filled her moments ago wasn't just her own.

She resisted an urge to turn into her Animagus form. As a cat, she could have a better hold of her own feelings, but somehow she doubted she would retain her grasp of her own wits.

A silvery cat sped out of the tip of her wand before she realised what she was doing, and soon enough Moody stepped into her office.

"You felt it too," Minerva stated gravely.

* * *

Neville wasn't really studying Charms for the next lesson. He had intented to: he had sat down at the table, propped his text up to be able to read it without craning his neck, and charmed his ink bottle so that the ink wouldn't ruin everything on the table should he knock it over. He had sharpened his quill and had started on reading the assigned chapter. He had even taken notes from the first page. But then light snoring had broken his concentration.

Hermione had dozed off on the couch, the heavy tome she had been reading nestled in her lap, head leaning on a cushion, and she made such a cute display Neville opted to take a sketch of her instead. He had managed to catch the line of her hair, shoulders and legs as she curled on the couch, and was attempting to draw the waves and curves of her robes, the delicate yet firm impression she gave even in her sleep, when his hand froze mid-air.

"No!" Hermione sat up, the book falling to the ground.

"It's... alright," Neville said, not entirely convinced. His own heart beat a lot faster than it should, and a chill crept up his spine in spite of the fire still going in the hearth.

Hermione drew her wand and looked around.

"There's nothing here," Neville waved his hand, spraying the table with ink. He frowned, but the charm worked as it should and herded the drops into a small pool, which lifted itself and poured back in the ink bottle.

"Oh." Hermione blushed as she put her wand away. "I had a... really bad dream, that's all."

But it wasn't all. Maybe Hermione could believe it was only a dream, but Neville had felt it, too, and he had been wide awake.

He stashed the drawing in between his books. His hands were still a little unsteady, he noted.

"Where's Draco?" he asked, because the silence became unbearable.

"I don't know - he was sick, wasn't he? Maybe he went to the Hospital Wing." Hermione stretched, picked up the book and lay it on the table.

"I'll go and... wait a minute." Neville disappeared in the boys' room and returned with several chocolate frogs. "Here, have one. You look tired."

"And the chocolate will help with that?" Hermione smiled, but took the frog, and then another at Neville's quiet insistence.

"I'll go and see how's Draco. Maybe I'll stop by Severus, see what he's come up with so far. Anything you've found out?" Hermione frowned, but it was a regular I-can't-figure-this-out frown.

"Not yet," she admitted. "It's hard to find out something when there's so little to go by." She bit her lower lip, then licked chocolate from it. "You're on to something, Neville," she noted. "The chocolate helps."

"Chocolate always helps. With anything," Neville said cheerfully. "Don't wait up." And he was out of the door.

Hermione sighed. She crossed the room to look out of the window, and she stood there peering into the darkness.

"Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing," she muttered finally. The dream she had had hadn't been a bad one - they were once again entering the Voldemort's hideaway, and as they downed the potion and crossed the barrier, imposing as Death Eaters for the necessary time, Harry turned back to Ron and her and measured them with an angry expression she hadn't seen on him since end of the previous summer.

"I changed my mind," the dream-Harry said. "Let's just take them all down." And he drew his wand.

No, this wasn't the same Harry she had learned to know over the course of the last year. This was the Harry she had known all the previous years: a boy full of life, a little terrified and sometimes unreasonably angry. Somehow she knew there may have been another way of destroying the Horcruxes, one that didn't require Harry to learn tranquility and forgiveness strong enough to turn him into a complete stranger.

This stranger who brought mercy upon Voldemort's head: and by healing his soul destroyed his immortality, undid his battle with death. And died for it.

* * *

Tisha stopped in the process of turning a page. The room seemed to be filled with stealthy creatures - unless they were shadows thrown by the dancing flame on her candle. She put down the book and looked around. A draft put out the candle, and Tisha hastily lit it again, the matches rattling in the box because her hands were shaking. A draft, yes, it had to be draft - the coldness that had all of sudden filled her heart couldn't have extinguished a candle.

The light chased away monsters lurking in the darkness and Tisha continued to light several more candles around the room.

What was she afraid of?

From her bedroom, she heard soft moaning. She quickly entered and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Draco," she called and reached out to gently shake his shoulder. "Draco, wake up. Wake up, honey." He woke with a start, breathing rapidly.

Tisha lit a candle on the bedside table. The soft light made Draco's skin seem even paler.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Draco nodded and pulled himself a little up into a half-sitting position.

"I just had a bad dream. Sorry," he muttered. "Did I wake you up?"

"No. No, I was just reading. What was the dream about?" She reached to feel his forehead and was pleased to find it a little cooler.

_Screaming of Luna Lovegood being tortured by Bellatrix. The way the windows seemed to tremble, and the walls to close in, while in fact it was only Draco who was trembling and frightened. The anticipation of what would happen to him as soon as the Dark Lord found out about the weakness of his heart. The sudden silence._

"Nothing. The war," he amended slowly. "I'm thinking about tearing down the Manor." And bury the horrors, and the screaming, and even the silence under its ruins.

"Tearing it... down?" Tisha was astonished.

"Do you think that would trigger the protective spells again?" Draco briefly looked up, not registering Tisha's face, and dropped his gaze back to his hands on the light duvet. Somehow witnessing Luna's death had been much more frightening than witnessing his mother'; but then, at that moment, Draco had been possibly scared out of his mind. He had been next in the line.

"I don't know. It's not exactly my field of expertise." The chuckle sounded a little forced and it was followed by clearing the throat. "Do you want more tea?"

"Yes please." Tisha busied herself with the tea. Her room was equipped so that she actually could make tea herself - she liked the ritual of it. Soon Draco was holding a steaming mug.

"You could ask Severus. About the protective spells. I think he may actually _know_ something."

"Umm... well... I..."

The fireplace in the next room whooshed and an irritated voice floated over, saving Draco from whatever he was so hard trying not to tell.

"Tisha!" The Squib appeared amused.

"Just a minute." She caressed Draco's cheek before standing up and moving in front of the hearth.

"Do you know what time it is, Severus?" The head floating in her fireplace above the freshly revived charcoals jerked irritably.

"It is not that late, and had you been asleep, you would still be asleep." He moved as if to leave.

"Didn't you want anything?"

"It was merely a social call. Good night." This time he left before she could object. Tisha shook her head and returned in the bedroom.

Draco's eyes shone in the dark, focused on her as she quietly moved to him.

"That was the weirdest Floo call I've ever had."

"You haven't seen much, have you?"

"Mmm. Are you well enough to go back to sleep?" There was a mug on the bedsite table and Tisha peered into it. "Here, you didn't finish your tea." She pushed the mug in Draco's hands.

"It's cold," he complained. She gave him a patented Malfoy stare and Draco quickly reached for his wand to warm the tea up. He obediently drained the mug and settled back, eyes already closed.

Tisha waited until his breathing slowed down and evened out before blowing out the candle. She left the door slightly ajar as she tried to turn the couch into something comfortable enough for sleeping.

* * *

"You forgot to ask about Draco," Neville noted.

"He is there. They were talking. Both are fine." Snape returned to his armchair and sank in it with a sigh. He covered his eyes with a steady hand.

"I should continue with the research," Snape said after a short silence. "The shadow isn't going to leave on its own accord."

"Only you don't want to read the book." Snape frowned at that, and then sneered at the discussed book still lying on the table where he had first put it.

"What do you think?"

"We've already concluded that your reading the book and the sense of terror aren't connected. The... the fear was a common sensation. Hermione and I both felt it, and so did Madam Pomfrey and the Ravenclaw in the Hospital Wing. And you forgot to ask Tisha about it."

"Professor Malfoy," Snape corrected. "I suppose I could have asked whether she had experienced sudden unexplicable fright, that would have been a great way of opening a conversation."

"Oh Professor, did you happen to be afraid of nothing about ten minutes ago?" Neville supplied cheerfully. "Nevertheless, it was _why_ you got up and to the fireplace in the first place. And we have a pass to call her Tisha."

"What, the whole student body?" Snape sounded outraged.

"Just our class."

"So we have concluded that the sense of terror is something connected with the shadow and the timing is merely a coincidence."

"We have?" Neville remained unconvinced.

"The feeling is similar. And I do not believe in coincidences. There is enough evil in this castle with the shadow. You were saying?" he turned threateningly at the Gryfindor, who had quietly supplied "Slytherins" as a more appropriate ending of the sentence.

"Nothing. But you still shouldn't read the book," Neville added firmly. "I think Professor Dumbledore is right. Was right." Snape extended his arm and Neville passed him the parchment, which Snape tucked back into his robes again.

"The answer is somewhere in that book," Snape said. "I am sure of it. It contains the most exhausting study of this area of Dark Arts, and the Hogwarts copy was stolen from the library last year. This is the book to be read."

"I said _you_ shouldn't read it, not that you should cast it in the fireplace."

"I am not handing this over to Mad-Eye Moody!" came the savage reply.

"I was thinking Hermione," Neville retorted calmly. He shifted on the rug and craned his neck to look at Snape. "She's already trying to figure this out on her own." Snape snorted and turned away to show he didn't believe that to be any better than to destroy the book. But that brought the book back into his sights. The letters on the cover seemed to glisten invitingly and Snape, feeling a wave of nausea, wondered whether Dumbledore had put a curse on the letter to make sure his _dear friend_ would continue biding his will.

"She'd be absolutely thrilled to have one more book to read," Neville continued without looking at Snape. "A book that's not in the library. The three thousand pages tome won't last her for long. You know what a book-worm Hermione is."

"No. I do not, not really."

"Well, you _should_ know. I don't think there's a book in the unrestricted part of Hogwarts library she hasn't at least scanned."

"And certainly a few from the Restricted Area, as well," Snape snarled. "If this book is supposed to bring so much evil to me, what will it do to a young unsuspecting Gryffindor like Miss Granger?"

"It won't bring evil to you, more like out of you. And Hermione is not unsuspecting. She was in the war, too, you know."

The fire soared higher in the fireplace and turned green for a short moment. Other than that, nothing seemed to happen, and they sat in silence for nearly a minute.

"I need to see the Headmistress." Snape rose and squared his shoulders. He picked the book up, weighed it in a hand, then put it down again. The lack of deadly stare told Neville all he needed to know to understand. He waited until Snape walked out of the door, stood up and eyed the book suspiciously. It appeared to be quite tame; a thick book in dark leather, lying quietly on the polished wood of the table. He flipped it opened and read the name of the first chapter, shuddered and quickly closed it again.

"Hermione would certainly love it," he muttered as he conjured a bag to put it in.

* * *

**A/N:**Hermione is quoting from Poe's Raven, of course.


	26. Good Deeds

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Good Deeds**

There was no strange occurence of fright during the next night, and the night after, but still the Headmistress held a short meeting with Moody and Snape every evening, and one of the three acted as a second patrol every night. The students seemed unaware. Although they were a little shaken the first morning after the wave of fear, the incident was explained as "something not so fresh for the dinner", which was not very nice to house-elves, but not very frightening either.

Friday evening, the meeting became rather crowded. All members of the faculty were cramped into a classroom near the staff room. Vectra and Spout were, to Snape's utter discomfort, leaning to each other, whispering and _giggling_ in the most girlish way. It grated on his nerves. They only stopped after the Headmistress entered, stood in the front and cleared her throat.

"Thanks to Peeves, who reappeared at the right moment, the staff room is unusable for human beings for at least two weeks," Minerva said after hearing reports on the subject by Flitwick and Moody. "And Mr. Filch will need some time to clean the mess that is not strictly magical. I will have to ask you all to store confiscated products of the Weasley twins' company in places that are safe from Peeves." Several teachers tried their best no to look guilty at the statement.

"Now, since we've already gathered here, we may as well go ahead with the regular meeting and save time for tomorrow morning. As you all remember, Hagrid holds his first special lesson tomorrow. Professor Grubbly-Plank?" The witch in question cleared her throat and resisted urge to stand up. Sitting at a desk in a classroom brought back memories which were somehow both pleasant and awkward.

"I have checked with Hagrid and the project is safe for all students. No more precautions need to be taken. I've also encouraged my best students to go and see the lesson, and to give example to younger students as to how they should behave in the presence of potentially dangerous animals." A wave of uneasiness went through the other teachers. Except for the Headmistress and Grubbly-Plank, they weren't informed about the nature of the animals inside Hagrid's stables. The exclusiveness and secrecy made Hagrid extremely happy, and Minerva thought it couldn't hurt to allow him that.

"Dangerous?" Flitwick voiced the worry of every other teacher in the room. "Did you say..."

"Every animal is potentially dangerous," Grubbly-Plank said firmly. "Cats and owls are equipped to fight for their survival, and yet we don't shield students from them. Children need to learn to treat animals right."

"That's settled, then," Minerva concluded, ignoring unhappy stares of Snape and Moody in particular. "Afternoon, there's the first Hogsmeade visit of the year. Mr. Filch will be checking that all the students leaving the castle have the necessary permission. Does anybody..."

Snape tuned her out. Some supervision in Hogsmead was necessary and welcome, but he was never the one to be there. There were enough volunteers who wanted to go and have a drink at Rosmerta's, buy new supplies or even new candy, or just get some fresh air. But it was also necessary for some teachers to stay behind and watch over the first and second years, and Snape always volunteered for that.

As the duties for those present in Hogsmeade were being handed out, he mentally went over what he wanted to accomplish during the weekend. His study of the shadow was at a dead end. Perhaps Granger would... well, being the bookworm Neville claimed her to be, surely she must have covered most of the book by now. He allowed a frown to cross his features. Hooch, who chose that very moment to cast a glance at him, frowned in return. Not a matching scowl, he was sure of that, but it still made her look ugly, and Snape felt content with the effect.

Hooch scoffed as she turned back to the front of the classroom, and that made Tisha look back at him. She raised her eyebrows in silent question, got no reply - of course - and let a small smile touch her lips in spite of that. Snape's scowl deepened, but as Tisha had already turned away from him, it had no effect at all.

Snape evaded any attention afterwards, except for a curt nod to accept staying in the castle during Saturday afternoon. Tisha moved towards him when the meeting was finished, but he evaded her as well and escaped in the dungeon. It was already dark outside and the Muggle Studies Professor, for all her faults, didn't wander the dungeons at night.

"Professor."

"What is it, Miss Granger?" She was waiting for him near his classroom, almost invisible in the black robes. Snape contemplated the why - why did she choose to ruin the rest of his evening - and concluded it must have been the Potions lesson cut extremely short when Peeves had made all the confiscated goodies blow up. She had probably finished the curriculum in the unexpectedly free hour and came to pester him with questions. Well, tough luck, he thought. He didn't stop and she had to nearly run to catch up with him.

"I was reading the book Neville brought me - thank you, by the way - and I have a couple of ideas I'd like to discuss with you." She was holding a book which, as Snape realised, must have been his Dark Arts book neatly disguised as a Potions textbook.

"If you have the time," Granger said sharply as he reached his door and was about to enter.

"Very well." Snape contemplated going back to his office. It wasn't far. "Very well," he repeated and decided against it. It was already past ten, but despite the late hour, students could still bother him in the office. _Slytherin_ students. Or Tisha. The matter at hand required discretion. He unlocked the door and motioned for Granger to enter.

She stepped inside without her usual brusqueness. He must have caught her off guard. It wasn't every day, after all, that the Potions Master of Hogwarts showed young women into his quarters.

"Hi Neville," she said and Snape's frown returned with a force even he hadn't expected.

"Welcome, everyone," he spat darkly.

"Should I leave?" Neville clearly recognised the book Hermione was holding by the way he was eyeing it.

"No, no, I was just going to organise a ball. It is the right season, after all."

"That's spring, sir," Granger corrected, while Neville grabbed his book and his essay - his essay! - and stuffed them into his bag.

"I'll go and fetch some music. That should liven the event up," he offered cheerfully. He turned at the door to throw a joyous, "Good night!" over his shoulder, and Snape was left alone in his living room with a very confused Hermione Granger.

"Perhaps we could get to the task at hand." He gestured towards the armchair Neville never used without being crudely forced to and Granger carefully sat down in it. "Which chapters have you managed to cover?"

"All of them. Although most of them weren't of help, it seemed." She opened the book and quickly turned pages. "There are many references to spells I've never even heard of, though, so I can't be really sure. This Rite of Allen Heartforth, for example..."

"You don't need to know about that," Snape said forcefully. Hearing the name of the ritual brought forward the visual: pictures of how it was done, detailed and gross, things he suddenly couldn't believe had interested him in the past so deeply.

"I can't rule it out if I..."

"You do not need to rule it out, I am ruling it out. The Rite was not used; I know what it achieves on success, as well as on failure. I am fairly familiar with the Dark Arts." He started his exclamation agitated, and finished in a quiet, threatening voice. Granger paled, but didn't give up.

"But, Professor, even if..."

"It. Was. Not. The. Rite." He had stood up and nearly shouted the words, he realised.

"Well, no, I'd think if it was as simple as that you would have cracked it by now." She waited until Snape sat back down with a sigh. "What we are dealing with is a combined spell - that's why I think it went wrong, because combined spells are so complicated..."

"I know that, Miss Granger, I can assure you..."

"... and the combination itself can change the outcome quite spectacularly."

"Spectacularly!"

"Not to mention that not every spell or ritual used in the combination has to be used as a whole," Granger finished darkly. "It's impossible to break the spell without learning how it was combined first, you know that."

"I need not to be..." Snape stopped short and closed his eyes. The moment stretched as he was preparing himself for what he had to say next, and he half wished Granger to go on talking, so he could throw her out for insolence.

But Granger, miraculously, kept her know-it-all manners in check and her mouth shut.

"You are right," he said when he couldn't postpone it any longer. "We cannot rule out any spell without knowing the others. I aware of it, Miss Granger." His breathing became easier as he regained full command of his emotions. "I merely..." Not so full command, must keep full command of himself! "I merely wished the darkest had not been involved. There are effects of Dark Arts I would not wish on children, no matter how..."

"Stupid?" she finished quietly. He snapped his eyes open, but the girl in the armchair next to him was grave and still a little pale. For a moment, she sat quietly, lost in contemplation.

"I made a list of spells that could be used in that combination - some of them are..."

"... not suitable for that, yes."

"... but I can't tell for all of them, I wasn't able to look them all up." She pulled a roll of parchment from her robes. Snape closed his eyes again, this time in mental pain.

The list was , of course, considerably long.

* * *

"And where have you been?" Draco spun and grinned. Tisha caught up with him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Visiting Blaise. Hogsmeade will be too busy tomorrow."

"So you're feeling better, then?" Tisha stopped as they were passing a torch and inspected Draco's face.

"I did. I may have overdone it with the walking, though," Draco replied carefully. He had spent better part of the week in Tisha's care - the evenings, at the very least. And he had thoroughly enjoyed it.

Tisha reached up to feel his forehead and cheeks.

"You don't look too well. Come, I'll make you tea." Draco smiled as sweetly and innocently as he could. He had run all the way from Hogsmeade, as a matter of exercise, and was therefore flushed.

"That sounds great."

Tisha led him into her living room, sat him in front of the fireplace and fussed over him in such a manner he actually felt a little guilty. Just a little.

"I've been thinking... about the Manor. How to best get rid of it," he said quietly after draining his mug.

"What did Severus tell you about the protective spells?" Tisha started gathering the tea things, taking unnecessary long to do so.

"Um... I didn't ask. Yet. There was no good opportunity." He shifted uneasily. "I've been very tired lately."

"Well, I understand you can't really do anything until you finish the school, or rather you shouldn't. So there's a plenty of time to find the opportunity." Or to change your mind.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he glanced at her and stood up.

"I should go. Thank you for the tea." He hovered over her for a few long seconds, then bent to kiss her good-bye.

Only after the door closed behind him, she let out the deep, unhappy sigh.

* * *

Having seen Granger out of his living room shortly before midnight, Snape embarked on a little unplanned patrol. Just one round to calm himself down - the spells and rites they had discussed left him restless. A long walk through the quiet corridors would calm him down.

And if that failed, he could always come upon a student out of bed after curfew. The Gryffindor Tower was still a part of the castle, therefore there was certainly a Gryffindor breaking the rules out there.

The theory, as much as he believed in it, didn't seem to prove right that night. Hogwarts was completely quiet and almost completely dark, with only a few torches burning near bathrooms the students were likely to use should they need to during night. He turned into a darker corridor where the path of torches turned towards Hufflepuff common room and frowned as another person joined him at the next junction.

"You are not patrolling, Professor," he pointed out.

"You are," Tisha agreed. "I just need a walk. Do you mind if I go in the same direction as you?" He decided not to answer and forced himself to return to his fast pace - when had he slown down anyway?

"You are worried about something," he resigned after five minutes of heavy silence.

"About Draco." There it went again! Of course it had to be Draco - she had been worried about his cold all week long. "He wants to tear down the Manor."

Snape stopped at a window and looked out on the grounds and the Forbidden Forest. Nothing much could be seen, as dark as the night was, but he wasn't really trying to see outside; instead he pictured everything Draco had witnessed in Malfoy Manor during the last year of war.

"I cannot blame him," he concluded in the end and resumed walking. Tisha shrugged next to him. He could hear her robes rustling. How could she make her robes rustle so... specifically?

"No, of course not. But I can't accept it either," Tisha whispered. Another minute of silence passed before Snape, against his better judgement, answered the question Tisha hadn't placed.

"The worst crimes of the war happened there. Nar... his mother was tortured to death right before his eyes."

"I know," Tisha said.

"And she wasn't the only one," he added grimly, thinking of Luna Lovegood in particular. He had noticed, at the time, the effect her death had had on Draco. "The place has become a stain of evil."

"It's my home," she answered. "It's been my home for centuries."

"Now, there is no need to exaggerate," Snape pointed out. "You didn't live there for more than decades."

"That is not my point!" She jumped in front of him, forcing him to stop. "There were some good chapters in the Malfoy history, too. The... the fountain in the back garden was built by Armand Malfoy the first summer after the manor was finished, and charmed by his wife Lucilla to overflow at night during the drought that followed the year after, to keep the nearby lands saturated. There are deep dents in the balustrade in the former entrance hall where Callisto Malfoy defended her children from a werewolf that broke into the manor. The statue next to the kitchen entrance was a gift from an orphanage Twinkling Star Malfoy supported for years."

"Twinkling Star Malfoy?" If Snape lifted his eyebrows any higher, they would have left his head and hit the ceiling.

"She came from a very good Yanktonai family," Tisha replied haughtily.

"I still cannot fail to notice all the good deeds were commited by the wives of Malfoys," he commented.

"They all became part of the family by marriage." Tisha put her fists on her hips as she continued, "The table in the dining room was made by Septimus Malfoy himself, complete with a self-seasoning charm. Father planted the Yoddling Yew next to the Silencing Stone when Lucius was born. And the carpet in the long hall - that was a gift to Narcissa and Lucius from my maternal great-aunt. She wove it herself, during their wedding night, and used ancient Albanian magic to grant it powers to protect them. Have you seen what happened to the carpet?" She seized his forearm - left, of course - and dug her fingers painfully into the Dark Mark there. Snape closed his eyes.

The last time he noticed anything about the carpet was when Narcissa's lifeless body lay on it. So much for the ancient Albanian magic.

"Yes," he managed in the end. "I have naturally noticed. Narcissa spent hours trying to clean the stains, with close to no result."

"Part of the magic is said to be only triggered by true heir's blood," Tisha muttered. She let go of his arm and turned a little aside. The nearest torch was behind her, so the movement actually allowed him to see more of her face. Snape rubbed the sore spot. The Dark Mark was invisible since the Dark Lord's demise, but he would probably have a little Malfoy mark in the morning.

"Then it's a shame Draco didn't bleed on it," he spat. The effect was immediate: Tisha must have processed the words before he himself realised what he said. She looked at him, spun on her heels and walked away.

He closed his eyes again. The physical pain subsided. He went over the conversation again in his head. The magic woven into the carpet, if it really was there, raised some intriguing questions. The potion he had used to save Draco's life was a pure experiment, a result of careful planning and thinking and, to some degree, desperate wishing. He had had no way to test it. Perhaps...

But before he could engage in thinking this through and setting his mind to peace, he needed to see that Tisha return to her rooms safely. He flicked his wand to make her footprints visible to him and followed them to her door. It was a direct route, he noted with satisfaction, as he finished the incantation.

As he turned towards the stairs, his left knee started throbbing with pain. A curse slipped him before he checked himself. The only consolation he had was that there was no need for him to go anywhere tomorrow. Spells and potions, he knew, offered only a partial relief. He would have to wait this out.

He pressed his lips together as he limped towards dungeons, unaware of the eyes that followed him from distance.


	27. Breeding Trouble

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Breeding Trouble**

Although most students weren't that _much_ interested in seeing Hagrid's "project", the crowd that gathered in front of the large building where the lesson was supposed to be held was quite overwhelming. Nearly all first years came, and most of the Care of Magical Creatures students, and many others who were worried that Hagrid was, in fact, breeding dragons in there.

Neville and Hermione somehow silently persuaded Draco to come as well. He stood as close to them as was possible without losing his dignity. Or too much of it - he caught several hateful glances from a group of Slytherins not far away.

A few steps away from the Veterans, Robert and Elizabeth were hopping from one leg to another in the chilly morning. The boy was smuggling a Potions book under his coat, although in the crowd he didn't dare to take it out. He only came because Elizabeth insisted.

At ten o'clock sharp, Hagrid opened the big gate and stopped short. He hadn't expected such a big attendance, but by the expression on his face, it was a very pleasant surprise. He beamed and looked even larger as he straightened his shoulders.

"Welcome!" he roared happilly. "Come in, come in!" The students filed into the building, which turned out to be stables, and in spite of the size there were no dragons inside.

"There's nothing in here," Robert whispered, not hiding his annoyance. He reached under his coat and fingered the spine of the Potions book.

"Can't you see them?" Elizabeth answered and pointed into the nearest stand.

"No. What's in there? Is it very small?" Potions book temporarily forgotten, Robert tried to see what Elizabeth was pointing out.

"As yeh can see, or some of yeh can' see," Hagrid chuckled, "we have Thestrals here in Hogwarts. Been quite famous fer tha'. How many of yeh can see them?" Elizabeth raised her hand, but most of the students didn't.

"Not much to show off to the young ones here, has he?" Neville muttered, clearly amused. Draco stole a sideglance at Hermione. She mutely nodded, looking over the Thestrals in their stalls.

"Now, Thestrals can bite yeh if yeh annoy them, so don't go annoyin' them. I brought somethin' to keep them good-natured." Hagrid lifted a cover from a cart next to his leg and took two quarters of a dead cow. He hung each part in between two adjoining stands so that the animals could eat it, and returned to the cart to bring more meat for others.

Hagrid continued to explain how the number of Thestrals in Hogwarts dropped during the last year, and how he managed to gather those that survived only to find them exhausted and sick, unable to provide for themselves in the Forest anymore. But the two survivor males were almost ready to return to the forest and most of the female Thestrals were pregnant, to be kept in safety until their foals were big enough to leave. Hermione very obviously wasn't listening. She moved through the crowd closer to one of the stalls. Draco noticed that and tapped Neville's shoulder to make him follow.

"You did see them, didn't you?" Hermione muttered without looking back when they stood each to one of her side. "In our fifth year."

"No, I didn't," Draco replied while at the same time Neville said, "Yeah." Hermione chuckled.

"Sorry. I just... this brings back memories."

"It sure does," Draco muttered, involuntarily rubbing his cheek, and Hermione put a hand over her mouth to muffle another chuckle.

The Thestral in the stand drew closer, curious about the trio looking at him, and sniffed at their hands as they reached out to pet him. When he discovered they brought him no meat, he returned to his beef and ignored them. Neville and Hermione exchanged a quiet recollection of the night flight to the Ministry a little over two years ago.

"You're missing out on the lecture," Draco whispered when it went on for too long for his liking.

"Hermione was paying attention in class," Neville countered.

"Well, that part is just about to come. Hagrid was talking about nursing the herd back to health and making sure they would reproduce, it was really interesting."

"Mmm. And did you understand him?" Hermion asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Of course I... did." Draco blushed. His hand flew to his face again, but Hermione pulled it down and smiled.

"Good to know I can leave a long-standing impression."

* * *

The surface of the crystal clear lake was perfectly still. Snape could see the tiny fish searching the bottom for food. He paid them no attention. There was something better to look at.

She was standing at the bank, gazing across the water, her red hair cascading over her shoulders and back like a beautiful waterfall. She didn't turn as he stopped behind her, as if she didn't want to see him - he was certain she knew he was there. He could easily walk around her to glance at her face, but he didn't dare.

Then she did turn a bit, just a little bit to let him see her profile. As she opened her mouth to speak, however, a loud knock disrupted the surface of the lake and Snape was washed with a wave of...

Waking up. Another knock - Snape glanced at the clock. It was earlier than he had expected. Whatever Hagrid kept in those stables couldn't be that interesting after all.

"Come in!" he shouted and pulled his leg off of the stool he had rested it on. The door opened and closed behind him.

"You didn't come to breakfast."

Snape first pushed the books he had been getting ready away again, then lifted his leg back on the stool, then frowned at Tisha.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded with a dark glare. "I should be the one gravelling on the ground and begging for forgiveness."

"It's nice to see you at least know what you need to do." Tisha cocked her head to one side as she stood in front of him. She frowned as she glanced at his leg and pressed her lips into a tight line as she looked at his face.

"Then go away and wait until I do so."

"Ah, we may see the seas drying out, heavens falling on the earth and hell frozen over before that happens." She sat down in Neville's armchair. "You didn't come to breakfast. You didn't show up at Hagrid's lesson. And by the looks of it, you didn't sleep at all," she accused him.

Snape sighed and covered his eyes with a hand. His knee was still hurting. It had kept him awake all night, which was responsible for him dozing off in the armchair when the pain dulled a little. Granger was supposed to show up after seeing Hagrid's little secret, to continue their discussion from the night before, and now Tisha decided to torment him with her presence.

"What do you want?"

"I was worried. They say there is a cruel monster living in the dungeons, ready to crush and tear apart. And it may eat small children as well."

She said it softly and he intented to respond with nothing more than another dark glare, intentionally badly suppressed snarl, and a threatening lip-curling, but in the end he asked, "Who says it?"

"The students. Well, they also say the monster is you, but I'm not foolish enough to believe that." She didn't smile until his hostile expression softened. To a degree.

"You have heard students telling frightening stories about me and you decided to come and see if they were true?"

"Oh, I've know them to be true for a long time now. I came to see if I could rescue some students. And dump something over your head. But you look like someone beat me to it, really, what's wrong, Severus?"

"It is merely a lack of small children in my diet. There are simply not enough first years to spare. That, and a residual curse in my knee turned active last night. It hurts," he clarified when he saw she still didn't understand.

"Isn't there some..."

"No. It's residual dark magic, so magic remedies don't work on it." She seemed to quietly contemplate something for a minute.

"What I meant last night was that Malfoy Manor is more than just a house," she said finally in a low, yet determined voice. "It's our family history. It's where we come from. I understand Draco would like to discard that. I wanted to cut all ties to the other Malfoys years ago. It doesn't work like that. I am who I am, a Malfoy by birth, and I have to accept that with all the history and all the bad things. Unless I want to lose everything I am. It's the same for Draco."

"I am fairly certain he would not pursue his plan should you ask him not to."

"I know." She rose to her feet and started pacing the room. "I know that, of course, but that's not all I want. I want him to understand. To learn all these things that make _me_ want to remain a Malfoy."

"You want him to come to share your point of view."

"I suppose, yes."

"What if he chooses not to?" Snape leant forward in his armchair and fell back instantly with a hiss of pain.

"Are you sure there's nothing..."

"Absolutely sure." She sat down in the armchair.

"If this conversation is finally over..."

"There is a book in the manor - it should hold a full account of things to be repaired on the premises. It also offers advice on how to do it. I think I should be able to retrieve it." She tried to say it casually, but the tension in her voice was far too clear for that. She was also not looking at him, but rather at her hands, which were neatly folded in her lap, he noticed. "Do you think that you..."

"I have no wish to enter Malfoy Manor ever again," he replied hastily.

"That will not be necessary. I really need..."

"Ever. Again." He punctuated the words with prodding his index finger in the armchair side, which was completely lost on Tisha since the cushioned side muffled the sound.

"Will you let me finish the sentence just this once?" she cried out and finally turned to face him. "I intend to do what I can, with the help of ready-made charms that should still be in the kitchen, and hire professionals to do the rest. I merely need someone to go over the list and decipher it for me, so that I don't get ripped off. And I can bring the book from the manor."

"How do you intend to get there?"

"I'll take the Knight Bus. I've done it before," she said curtly.

"And you expect a full change of Draco's heart when you remove the damage done to the house? Really, do you?" Tisha hung her head. The question had its merit. Removing the visible remnants and replacing completely destroyed furniture could never remove a memory of things that had transpired in the house. She was well aware of that.

"It's the only thing I could think of. I have to do something."

"Again, you could ask Draco to leave it standing and move in there yourself." She lifted her eyes to meet his. There it was - deep, desperate longing of an intensity he understood, and yet he didn't understand what it was she longed for, what she hoped to achieve.

"Well, all the more reason for me to have it put in order," was all she said in the end.

"As you wish. I will look at the... list of repairs and see if I can offer some advice. But I draw the line there. I will not..."

"... enter the manor again. Ever again. I heard you, Severus." She rose to her feet and as she appeared to offer him some kind of assistance again, by the way she glanced at his leg, he made a point of summoning his long cold tea from the dining area to a small table within his reach. She frowned, as if it were insulting that he could look after himself, or perhaps she found his superlicious expression insulting, but a sharp knock on his door prevented him from having to deal with her any longer.

"That should be Miss Granger. Please show her in on your way out."

"What if it's someone else?"

"Put them in detention for me. For disturbing a professor from his much needed rest." He pretended to a sip the tea and waited until Tisha safely reached the door before casting Evanesco on the cup. The only thing worse than a cup of cold tea, he believed, was a cup of tea magically reheated. It wasn't worth the effort. The tea never tasted the same again.

"Oh, hi. I'm afraid you're in detention." The soft rustling was cut off by the door slamming. Snape waited until Neville stood in front of him.

"I was expecting Miss Granger."

"She went up to fetch the book. And some notes. I thought you wanted to see what Hagrid's breeding."

"Why does everyone think I feel compelled to participate in social events of this school?" Snape complained as he put away the cup and considered summoning the bottle of Firewhiskey. The younger man eyed his leg propped up on a stool briefly and decided not to make a comment about it.

"Such as breakfast?" Neville sat down on the rug. "It's just the school Thestrals. What pulled the carriages this year?" he asked curiously.

"Common horses."

"That sounds rather boring for the students." Another knock interrupted whatever he was about to say.

"If that is Miss Granger, let her in on your way out. If it is any other student, put them in detention for me," Snape instructed. Neville gave him a dirty look, but went to see to the door without any protests.

"And if that's the Headmistress?" he called after opening the door.

"It is _not_ the Headmistress."

"You got me there. Can I borrow your copy of latest Intimidating Ingredients? There should be an article on Egyptian shrivelfigs." He rummaged through Snape's Triple P - personal press pile - to find the magazine in question.

"There is, but it is not very good."

"Really." Neville had located the magazine and was quickly scanning it. "The picture is accurate." He showed the page to Snape with a grin.

"It should have come with the terrible wailing sound as well. Miss Granger, have a seat. Stop pestering me." Hermione sat down on the very edge of the armchair and looked from one to another.

"As you wish, but if I find a new suspicious jar on your shelves when I'm back..."

"You wouldn't be able to tell a suspicious jar from a jar of grounded newt liver."

Hermione's eyes nearly fell out of her head.

"... and I _would_ know, so a new jar and no Hermione, there will be reckoning." Neville gestured with a rolled newspaper in Snape's face.

"And leave my Daily Prophet behind!"

"I was just taking it hostage." But he dropped the papers back on the pile, winked at Hermione and showed himself out. A merry whistling sounded before the door softly closed behind him.

"Do I even want to know..."

"You do not," Snape said determinedly. "Where were we?"

Hermione unpacked a load of books on the small table. Snape frowned as he had to levitate the cup and teapot away. The books she brought, together with the books he had prepared, threatened to overflow the table.

"Extension Charm," the girl commented with a shy smile. "I stopped at the library to pick up some referential books. You do have a copy of Horrible Hexes, don't you?" She barely paused to acknowledge his nod. "I find the referential table on combining in that book very useful. It is basic combinations only, but still rather exhausting." Snape silently summoned the book and put it on the table. "I went over Cladibus' Course through Curses last night, very quickly, naturally." She presented the book, opened at a place she had found interesting. "Are you well? You look pale. Paler than usual."

"I am vastly overwhelmed with the unexpected number of visitors today." He rubbed his knee and realised he failed to put it down from the stool. Granger didn't seem to notice, or at the very least, she didn't say anything on the topic.

"Oh... should I come some other time?" Now it was obvious she _had_ noticed. Her hand froze in the process of opening another book and her gaze fixed upon his hurting leg.

"There is no time like tomorrow." Snape paused briefly and continued, "Especially since tomorrow always seems to remain in the future. I am well enough to go through your extensive notes."

* * *

Draco wasn't sure why he had decided to stay behind after Hagrid's lecture for the practical part. Cleaning stalls was not his preferred pastime. Handling manure at all wasn't something Lord Malfoy would do, was it?

But here he was, in the back of the small group of volunteers. Hagrid had a few pitchforks and shovels ready and Professor Grubbly-Plank offered to teach older students a charm that would accomplish the same task if used correctly. Although she herself admitted it was easier to learn once they have tried it the Muggle way, and therefore she would be teaching it only after they have gained some experience.

It must have been that Hermione and Neville disappeared so quickly, Draco decided as he half-heartedly followed Hagrid's explaining of why and how. Hagrid announced they should create three smaller groups. Draco carefully eyed the other students. No-one was keen on being in the same group with him, and he ended up with two Gryffindor first-years.

"Hi, Patchwork," the boy with all too big eyes said. He didn't seem overjoyed either and handled his shovel rather clumsily. Draco grabbed a pitchfork and turned to the girl. She was holding another pitchfork like she had spent her life mucking out stables.

"I'm Draco, actually."

"Elizabeth," piped the girl. "Shouldn't we lead the Thestrals out of the stalls before we start, Professor?" she asked in a small, but clear voice.

"O' course! A point to Gryffindor!" Hagrid beamed at her and set to the task.

"I'm Robert. Have you ever done this before?"

"Not me," Draco conceded. He noticed the remaining two groups consisted of four students each, and no first-years. "How about you?" he asked Elizabeth.

"Daddy and I are running a farm," she said proudly. "Hold the pitchfork like this." She waited until he rearranged his fingers around the handle in a way she approved of. "And get ready to get a little dirty." Draco looked over at the stall's floor, then drew his wand and cast a charm he hoped to keep the dirt and the smell off of his clothes. The charm felt good - he could always say when he cast a charm incorrectly by how it felt - so he perfomed the same charm for his companions, too.

They were assigned a stall to clean. Hagrid and Grubbly-Plank were assisting the other groups and Elizabeth assumed the role of a teacher for theirs. She showed them where to start and how to handle their tools and gave them useful tips on how to work the most efficiently. Draco discovered, to his surprise, that he quite enjoyed the exercise. He concentrated on the repetitive movements of the pitchfork and found his mind cleared of everything - anything. His upper arms and shoulders started to complain, and he was sweating, but even that didn't slow him down.

When they were done with their stall, they moved on to another. Draco traded his pitchfork for a shovel. It took him a couple of tries to get into the routine again.

"Take a break," Elizabeth whispered to Robert, who appeared rather exhausted. "You look like you need it."

"What about," the boy had to take a breath, "Draco?"

"He's bigger," she shrugged. "He can work longer than us little ones." She chuckled, than looked down. "Don't you miss your Mum and Dad, Robert?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Me? No, I'm a big boy, I can stay away from home for some time."

"I guess we girls need to be a little bigger for that," she said with a sigh.

"Yeh children run inter trouble?" Hagrid's voice boomed behind them. Robert jumped a little.

"No, just taking a break," Elizabeth answered for both of them.

"How's yer friend's cat doin', Lizzy?" he asked, eying Draco with a strange expression.

"Oh, she'll be all right in a couple of days. Thank you for the advice, Hagrid. Professor Hagrid," she corrected herself and blushed.

"There's no need fer formalities," Hagrid waved it away. "Here, have a cookie." He fished in one of his many pockets, pulled out two cookies and handed each of them one. Then he patted Robert on the back, nearly knocking him over, and returned to his group of volunteers.

"Don't eat it," Elizabeth whispered. "It's as hard as a rock."

"Oh." Robert turned the cookie over and inspected it, idly wondering whether it could be used in some potion.

"Ready to go on with the work?" She didn't wait for his answer and set to it.

* * *

Tisha approached Neville right after lunch and they went to call the bus before students left the castle to go to Hogsmeade. The ride was short. Her stomach was still a little queasy from passing the anti-Muggle wards around Hogwarts and the bus was already stopping at the front gate of Malfoy Manor.

"Wait... I would need you to pick me up here at five o'clock, please," she told the conductor, a thin youth with many pimples.

"You need to call the bus yourself, ma'am," he said. "These are the rules." He moved to close the door and Tisha quickly put a foot back on the steps.

"But I've done that before and it was never problem," she argued. "I can't call the bus, I'm a Squib." The pimpled youth looked at her with pity.

"We have the rules here, ma'am..."

"Please? Just this one time?" He looked back at the driver, who gave a tiny nod.

"Okay. Just this one time, ma'am, because you're so nice. We'll be back at five."

"Thank you." She smiled and stepped away. The bus was gone in an instant.

The front gate was locked, and as she had expected, didn't recognise her to let her through. She walked around the wall to a small entrance to the western garden. This was locked, too, but reaching under a certain loose brick in the wall still did the trick. The hinges creaked as the small gate opened. As Tisha walked into the garden, she felt the familiar tingling of the wards of her home and smiled.

The smile soon left her face. The path to the kitchen entrance led through her mother's beloved garden. It used to be a beautiful place in any part of year; magical and non-magical plants were combined in such a way that there was always something worth looking at, and even in the high of winter, there were evergreen bushes and trees to offer comfort. But now the garden was practically destroyed. Some plants needed daily watering and died long ago, some were fragile and needed regular weeding and were now dead and covered with a layer of dead leaves. The garden had always been in the care of Lady Malfoy, but it had been clearly neglected for a very long time.

Of course, Narcissa must have had different worries during the war, Tisha mused as she reached the fountain built by Armand. It was dry, except for a puddle of muddy water on the bottom. It must have rained recently.

The place was so depressive she wanted to sit down and cry. How could she ever thought she could restore it? There seemed to be too much to do, she wouldn't know where to start...

One brave Romanian Roaring Rose was peaking from a rug of ground ivy, with a solitary bud at the very top. Tisha touched it with a fingertip and the rose wailed - not quite a roar it was supposed to give, but it was clearly still alive.

Still fighting.

Tisha set out again and soon stood in the kitchen. It was in a terrible state, all drawers pulled out and kitchen tools haphazardly on the floor. There must have been a raid, Tisha realised, after the war was over. The Ministry wouldn't leave the manor alone, especially since Lucius may have been still alive and in hiding.

She quickly walked through the house, grateful she had visited it with Draco not so long ago. Most of the wards were set to recognise family members, and most of them had been altered to allow her move through the manor freely, even trigger some of the magic - the front gate opening being one of the exceptions. That was a joint effort by her parents. Lucius had somehow locked her out of the house, but never managed to get rid of the alterations, so when Draco allowed her back in, she could move about as well as during her childhood.

The door to her father's laboratory remained locked to her, as she had expected, but not so his study. She scanned the library and then started searching his desk. There it was, a small book in black leather. Or maybe blackened leather. It was as old as the manor itself and the very first entries were made by Armand and his wife. She used to love reading the book as a child. The book was spelled to answer to any Malfoy, to provide information or even advice to those who asked.

Tisha sat down at the desk and curiously opened the book. The few pages inside were filled with a list of issues to be tended to. A list created by the manor itself, not a human hand.

"There must be hundreds of entries here," she muttered. She tried turning pages backwards to get to any real entry, but there were too many things to be fixed. She looked deeper in the drawer, and sure enough, there was a special ink bottle with her name on it. Reaching older entries quickly required magic Tisha never possesed, but the ink from the charmed bottle could grant it anyway. She dipped a quill in the ink and wrote a date on the first page.

The day her brother sent her away.

At first nothing happened, and she thought the charm had died with her mother, but then the pages cleared themselves and different writings appeared. All mundane tasks, Tisha noticed, and not a single line from Lucius. At first all issues were handled swiftly, and sometimes a question appeared in Narcissa's elegant manuscript, to which the book answered. A strange stain on a carpet - a new kind of weed in the garden - a charm on this or that not working as it should - for years everything was in good order.

The book didn't have many pages, so Tisha had to write a new date several times before reaching the time of the Second Wizarding War. It was clear Narcissa no longer had enough time nor energy to provide the daily maintanance to the manor. The things not working remained not working and for a long time, no entry from Lady Malfoy broke the stream of complaints the house had. At last there was an entry in her manuscript, although not as elegant as usually.

"How do I remove the Dark Lord from the Manor?"

* * *

"Oh, look at this, Lord Malfoy mucking out stables." The voice was unpleasant and Draco wondered whether he had sounded the same way when he had been doing the same thing. "Couldn't find anything better to do? I suppose all the noble tasks have been claimed by the _real_ nobility." He looked up and measured the girl and her suite with a cold indifferent stare. He recognised her - Astoria Greengrass, two years below him. It made her a sixth year, then. Her friends were all Slytherins. So very much like Pansy, he thought, as he returned to his work, not finding the group worthy of a reply. Except there were some young boys in Astoria's suite as well. There is probably no male leader in the Slytherin House now. That lifted his spirit.

"Didn't you hear me, Malfoy? Are you deaf as well as..."

"Wha's goin' on here?" Hagrid towered behind Astoria. She spun around and had to crane her neck to look at him. She even took a little step behind. It was still impossible for her to look _down_ on him, no matter how hard she tried.

"I'm afraid all this manure attracted a swarm of dung flies, Professor," Draco said clearly before Astoria could say anything. He seemingly amicably patted her back. She turned to him and he mouthed "dung flies" again, in case she didn't understand what he meant the first time. She turned red, pressed her lips together, and marched her swarm of followers away, what little dirt and manure had stuck on Draco's hand sticking now to her robes.

"Tha' happens," Hagrid agreed. "The lunch is nearly over. The... three o' yeh should go and have some," he said kindly, although he never looked directly at Draco. He collected the tools from them and Draco realised, with a suprise, that there were only two more students still around, all the others having left to have lunch and get ready for the Hogsmeade visit already.

"You're a lord?" Robert asked as they headed back to the castle.

"It's a family thing," Draco agreed nonchalantly.

"Why were they so unfriendly?" Elizabeth asked with a frown. "Are they like the librarian?"

"Oh, no, they are not like that. See, I started the war on the wrong side - their families were still there when it finished." The two smaller children contemplated this the rest of their way back to the castle.

"How about washing your hands?" Elizabeth said when Draco and Robert headed to the Great Hall right away. Draco looked back. She stood with her small fists on her hips, an expression of a disappointed mother on her face. Clearly, the way Mrs. Weasley treated children in her care was some generic thing women shared, because here the little witch was doing the same, in the same way. He stopped Robert's protests before they even started by grabbing his shoulder.

"Right. We'll be back in five." The closest boy bathroom was in the dungeon, he knew, but there was one on the second floor as well, just next to the stairs, and he led Robert there.

* * *

Having climbed all the way to the tower and through the portrait, Robert and Elizabeth were suprised to find Ginny studying on the couch.

"Hi, Ginny," they chorused.

"Hi," she said, briefly glancing up.

"Didn't you want to go to Hogsmeade?" Robert asked curiously as he sat down next to her, peeking into the book she was reading.

"It's too crowded on Hogsmeade weekends," she replid absentmindedly, than realising she wasn't supposed to go there any other day, she added, "I've been there many times before. I have a Charms test Tuesday morning, so I thought I'd study a bit. You two up to something?"

"No!" they chorused again.

"Although we could go to the lake," said Elizabeth, turning to Robert. "You could take your book and I'll take some parchment and write to Daddy." Ginny tuned them out.

"Removing stains is as variable as stains themselves. More generic charms are less powerfull than those made specifically for a certain surface and dirt type," she read in a low voice. She measured the lenght of the chapter in pages. "Huh. Who would have thought cleaning was such a science."

* * *

"How do I remove the Dark Lord from the Manor?" Tisha stared at the words for long minutes. They were at the very end of a page and she had to muster all her strenght to reach out and turn it.

"You do not have the power," was the reply from the book.

"He's going to kill my son! I can't allow him to stay here!"

"You do not have the power," the book repeated. "Seek help from more powerful friends." Tisha looked at the date. This was more than two years ago, summer 1996. For more than a year after that, there was nothing from Narcissa again, although time to time there was an entry put to "resolved", which was clearly her work, and then, in her typical manuscript once more:

"How does the rug in the long hall work? How does it protect us?"

"It leads your hearts to take the same path, thus granting you strenght to face dangers together."

"Will it save Draco?"

"That cannot be said."

"How can I use it to save my son?" Tisha could picture Narcissa writing the question. Frightened but determined. Not frantic anymore; not merely desperate, _calm_ with desperation. Ready to do anything for her son - anything - that was really her greatest strenght. Tisha imagined Narcissa licking her lips nervously as she waited for the book to answer.

"By the blood and the power, it will give you the strenght you lack. But it may not be enough. Seek help from more powerful friends."

After this, all entries were maintenance issues generated by the house, and none of them resolved. A chill ran down Tisha's spine. Narcissa had known she had been going to die. She had known...

Without pursuing the thought, she collected the book and the ink bottle, straightened the chair behind the desk and walked back to the kitchen. The cleaning charms were not in the cabinet, but most of them survived the raid and she found the carpet cleaner quickly enough. From a corner of her eye, she caught a movement behind a row of shelves.

"Who's there?" No answer came, and nothing budged. "If there are rats in here..." she mumbled angrily. She grabbed the cleaner and noticed the bottle was almost empty.

The curse marks on the rug, she knew, couldn't be cleaned with a charm. There was a high chance they couldn't be cleaned at all. But she homed in on a circle of dirt she had noticed in the middle of the hall. She poured a little of the cleaner on the palm of her hand, knelt down and spread it on the rug, then repeated the administrations until the bottle was empty. Most of the dirt dissipated almost immediately, some rose from the rug in the form of snowflakes that fell upwards instead of down, and Tisha got up to open a window, so that they could fly outside.

She returned to the spot she had just cleaned. Sure enough, there it was. A drop of blood.

The rug needed more cleaning, and there may be more bottles of the cleaner in the kitchen, but a glance at her watch told her she didn't have enough time. She needed to be back at the front gate at five, or she would have hard time getting back to Hogwarts.

She closed the window, annoyed because she hadn't thought about opening it sooner. The place needed fresh air. She quickly returned to the kitchen and tried to take count of the cleaners there. Not nearly enough, she thought, but it would be sufficient for a few more visits, and she could sorten out the kitchen then to get a better overview.

She reached the front gate at half past four. She sat down and opened the book again. Sure enough, it read now, "Cleaning of the rug in the long hall insufficient!" on the last page. She thought about writing back something insulting, but decided against it. There were clouds gathering, threatening to rain, and as soon as she put the book away, first drops fell. She huddled in her cloak.

The bus appeared on time and both the conductor and the driver looked relieved to find her already waiting for them. She paid for the ticket and tipped the conductor with a little wink, and the boy blushed.

Neville waited for her at the gate and helped her find her way through the Muggle-repelling spells. They descended in the dungeon together and Neville showed her in. First thing they heard, of course, was Snape's angry voice.

"I do not care what you believe you may achieve, Miss Granger. You are talking about a very dark ritual, the dangers of which you cannot fully comprehend!" He was still sitting in the armchair, his back to the door, as he had in the morning, and Hermione was towering over him, not even glancing to the door, eventhough Neville made no effort to close it very quietly.

"I don't think I deserve to be called stupid at this point!" Hermione answered heatedly.

"You do, if you think about delving into Dark Arts just like that. We are not talking about taming redcapes or perhaps befriending half-dark fiends from the Forbidden Forest."

"Oh, please!"

"This is Dark Arts, and Dark Arts come with a price. And you can believe me, Miss Granger, that I do know what I am talkng about when I say the price is at any rate too high."

"I suppose you also have a reason to believe it's dark, since it's nothing more than a reconnaissance spell?"

"Any spell or ritual that requires spilling of blood, Miss Granger, either that of the spellcaster or that of anybody else, is to be considered dark. You will do well to remember that. Aren't you going to at least close the door?" he snapped over his shoulder.

"I did," Neville said in his best I-have-not-heard-an-argument-here voice. "You must have missed it. Drop it, Hermione." The young witch scoffed, but didn't continue the argument.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" she asked Snape.

"I will show you the place, if you insist. Tomorrow. The shadow is mostly active during night, and it is no good to risk any more than strictly necessary. After breakfast is fine. Good night," he dismissed her. "And what do you want?"

"Ah, you must feel really sociable today," Neville commented. "Here's your magazine. You were right, the article is rubbish." He put the magazine back on the pile. "Don't worry, I'll be back." He motioned for Hermione to go with him, and she did so without vocal protestations. She did throw a dark glare at the Potions Masters, though.

"That leaves me to deal with you."

"I just brought the book." Tisha placed it on the table next to Snape's hand.

"I shall have a look at it after dinner."

"Can you just open it now? To see if it's working for you?" He looked up with bleary eyes, but complied.

"Oh, great, it's blank." Tisha took the book and turned pages back and forth. She could see the letters.

"And now?" she handed the book to him.

"Cleaning of the rug in the long hall insufficient? What did you do?" Snape snapped the book closed and put it at the table, eyeing Tisha with deep suspicion.

"Just poured carpet cleaner on it. There wasn't enough of it for the whole rug, though."

"Did it work?"

"It did, for regular dirt. How's your leg?" She sat in the armchair and watched him. Snape resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny.

"Still attached to my body, thank you for asking."

"I can see that, Severus. You look tired."

"Why would that be, what do you think?" He tapped his nose with a long thin finger.

"It certainly isn't the result of running, that much I can tell. Did you even have lunch?"

"I do not need you looking after my daily routine," he rebuked angrily.

"You do, if you think about skipping meals like that." He pretended he didn't notice how well she imitated his intonation. Instead he picked up the book again.

"Oh, blank pages." He handed the book to Tisha and she closed it and put it away in her robes, in spite of his expectant expression.

"You may be ready to go on through the night, but I am not," she said softly. "This could wait a few more days. I should probably go over it myself and copy out only the entries I can't deal with on my own." She cleared her throat uncertainly.

"You can just show yourself out, then," Snape growled. She stood up, but headed in the bathroom instead. "Of course you can use my bathroom, it is at your disposal for asking," Snape shouted as the door closed. Tisha came back after a few minutes, bringing a towel and a small basin.

"I thought a little poultice might help with the pain. The cause is a curse, but the swelling isn't, is it?" Snape looked down and realised with surprise and embarassment his robes had rucked up, revealing his knee for everyone to see. Granger hadn't mentioned it, although she must have noticed.

Before he could cover his leg, Tisha took hold of it, wrapping the knee in something wet. Snape could swear under Veritaserum that he had never seen that particular cloth before and that it had not been located in his bathroom, in spite of the fact that it simply had to be.

Of course, Snape could swear under Veritaserum that he had been sorted into Hufflepuff, if he only concentrated enough.

Tisha busied herself wrapping the towel over the wet cloth, oblivious to Snape's murderous looks. She all but tucked him in; and it would be amusing to watch her trying that, Snape mused, his mood slighty lifting as he pictured it: the Squib pulling his robes up to his chin, then screaming in horror as she realised she uncovered him instead of covered.

"What's so funny?" she asked when she finally looked up. He scowled.

"Nothing. Why would anything be funny today?" He put his leg down and hastily covered it. Whatever Tisha put in the poultice was very effective. He could feel the pain subsiding already.

"I'll leave you to..." Another knock on the door and Snape was ready to hex whoever was it this time. But the door fell open before he could do anything, and Neville pushed a clearly agitated Granger back in.

"The shadow. In the corridor leading to the kitchens."

"We banished it," Granger interrupted when she saw Snape whisking out his wand. "Professor McGonagall's charm worked, well, like a charm."

"Just thought you should know," Neville added. Whatever argument the two Gryffindors had been having, Granger lost. Which was why she was so angry now.

"Very well. Was anyone else there? Students, perhaps?" They both shook their heads.

"The house elves may have noticed something," Granger realised. "We should..."

"We should go and check on them, what an excellent idea," Snape agreed and strode to the door. "I will go with you. Neville, accompany Professor Malfoy to her rooms." Snape noticed with pleasure that Granger's eyes again attempted to fall out of her head. He should keep track of such accomplishments.


	28. Something Wrong

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter NOR any of his friends NEITHER any of his enemies. It's hard to admit, but when I'm done with them all, I have to return them to Joanne K. Rowling in an original wrapping and unharmed.  
I make no money, I mean no harm.

* * *

**Patchwork  
Something Wrong**

Patty kept one eye on her cauldron, where the Wit-Sharpening Potion simmered, and the other on Romilda. She was making a fool of herself, trying to impress the Potions Master with her hair-do and make-up, instead of working on the assigned potion.

Not to mention the added benefits of her using said potion on herself.

Snape bent over Romilda's cauldron, took the ladle and inspected both the colour and the consistency of her brew. It was supposed to be purple, but it was red instead.

"How did you achieve this particular colour, Miss Vane?" The girl pursed her lips and batted her eyelashes - she had applied a generous amount of Longest Lashes of Love just before the lesson, and Patty thought she looked like a painted doll.

"I must have let the potion simmer for too long," Romilda said and fluttered her eyelashes again. Patty turned down the heat on her own cauldron and added more ginger root. She managed to get the correct colour, although she suspected she stopped following Romilda's attempts at flirtation just in time.

"This performance is unacceptable for a N.E.W.T. level student... is there something in your eye?" Snape said in a cold voice, finally acknowledging Romilda's eyelashes. The girl beamed and straightened her shoulders. Patty almost dropped her stirring rod - that was not the same set of robes Romilda wore in other classes.

Snape didn't seem to notice, though - or he chose not to mention anything. He ordered Romilda to write an essay about her mistakes and quickly moved to check the other students. The potion was one they had brewed in their fourth year, and they all passed their O.W.L.s with an O, so there weren't many comments - although, as Patty noticed with amusement, it would probably kill Snape to tell anyone they had done a good job.

After receiving a nod of her own, which was the best she could have hoped for, Patty cleared her table and cleaned her cauldron. She glanced sideways at Romilda. She was beaming. Attention whore, Patty thought without any heat. Better spoiling her own potion than to go through the lesson without being noticed.

There was no doubt that Romilda knew how to brew the potion. She wasn't stupid - not in the academical sense of the word, anyway - and usually got better with practice. She usually didn't get the desired effect on her first try, whatever it was she was learning, but was fully capable of getting it right on the second go.

"This lesson is not yet over," Snape announced from the front of the classroom. "Get seated and open your textbook on page twenty-eight. That applies to you too, Miss Greengrass." The Slythering girl reluctantly sat down.

"We have been revising the Wit-Sharpening Potion in order to prepare for the next N.E.W.T. level potion. As much as I had hoped this revision to be unnecessary, your performance once again proved my hopes to be undeservingly high. Chapter three of your Potions textbook, which starts on the page twenty-eight, details the instructions for brewing and correct usage of Mind Relieving Potion. Do you require my assistance in finding the page, Mr. Berrow?" That made two Slytherin students in a row in whom Snape showed displeasure. That wasn't unheard of since beginning of the year - one more would still make a record.

"As you can see, or you _would_ be able to see, should you look in the book, Miss Vane, the Mind Relieving Potion is in many aspects similar to the potion you have just, with more or less success," here Snape glared at Romilda to make it clear which group she fell in, "finished brewing. Now, does any of you see any of the similarities?" The class bent over the books. Out of corner of her eye, Patty noticed Romilda's hand shot in the air. She dismissed the feeling of annoyance and blinked to better concentrate on the text.

"Miss Vane?" By the resignation in Snape's voice, he didn't expect a correct answer.

"Two of the ingredients are the same, grounded scarab beetles and armadillo bile." Snape paused, then nodded.

"That is correct. Although I was hoping for a more insightful answer. Something less trivial and obvious, if you will. Yes, Miss Pitty?" The dark eyes focused on her for a searing moment, then turned away to take account of the rest of the class.

"In both cases, the brewer must measure correctly the intermittent simmering times, otherwise the potion will not have the desired effect." If Snape had been a human wizard, he would have smiled. Of course he glared at her.

"Well noted. Miss Pitty is correct." Romilda turned to glare at Patty behind Snape's back. The exaggerated eyelashes made the glare somewhat less lethal that Snape's. The professor, unaware of or uncaring for the silent communication, continued, "I believe the rest of you still can come up with another correct answer. Mr. Berrow?"

"Both are prepared in a cauldron over fire, sir!" Snickers and other sounds of merriment could be heard for the few seconds before Snape silenced them with another glare.

"Mr. Berrow, if you wish to visit a class that is a joke, perhaps you should have chosen Divination instead of Potions." Berrow grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry, sir."

"I find it hard to believe you all passed your O.W.L.s at all, not to mention with the highest marks. Yes, Miss Greengrass, and if you please could restrict your answer to something non-obvious, particular and at least marginally important."

"Well, Professor, both the potions can be used to counter the effects of Confundus Charm." Astoria didn't smile when Snape acknowledged her answer as correct. As most of the Slytherins after the war, Astoria Greengrass didn't like Snape. It even appeared, at times, that she hated him.

"As you can also deduct from the instructions, brewing the potion correctly will take up all of the alotted time for our next lesson. You are therefore to learn the instructions in advance, so that you would lose no time trying to comprehend them. The quality of the potion will contribute to your final marks. All unfinished potions will be marked as failed." Patty looked over the instructions again. They would have barely enough time fetch supplies - better to learn the ingredients by heart and make it an only trip.

"There are still several minutes until the end of the lesson," Snape continued. "Five points from Hufflepuff and I will have that parchment, Mr. Pewsey." He collected a piece of parchment from the blushing boy, scanned it and raised an eyebrow before addressing the class once again. "You may use this time to make sure you understand the instructions and to ask any questions."

Patty fished a piece of parchment from her bag and started going over the instructions and taking notes. The assignement was too hard to grant a good mark to everyone, as skilled as they already were in spite of Snape's lack of faith in them, but she was determined to finish the potion in time. She was fairly certain that whatever her marks during the sixth and seventh year, she would pass the N.E.W.T.s, but she also wanted a summer job in a brewery and good results from this year could get her a better pay.

Unless it came out that there was something wrong with Snape. Which there was. She dared a look at the professor. He was sitting at the desk and studying the parchment he had confiscated from Gareth Pewsey. By the blush the Hufflepuff was sporting, it was another love note he wrote to Romilda. Only good for him she didn't see it - she could be very inconsiderate.

There was something wrong, something off about the lesson. If only Patty could put her finger on it.

* * *

When Snape caught sight of Ginny Weasley entering the Great Hall for dinner, his frown deepened. If the girl noticed, she didn't show it. She was after all accustomed to Snape's frowns and glares.

"Is anything the matter?" Unlike Professor Malfoy, who had the annoying habit of noticing and discussing.

"Why should anything be the matter?" he countered her.

"Severus likes to frown when students are around," Sprout piped in. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed it earlier." The Potions Master's patented glared turned on her, but she must have grown immune to it.

"It didn't seem the ordinary frown to me," Tisha continued quietly when Sprout leaned away from them to take part in another conversation.

"It merely occured to me that there are only two students in both my N.E.W.T. level classes who have any talent for Potions at all."

"Just to make it clear, of all the inept and inadequate children, two managed to surpass their ignorancy to the point that you noticed they have talent?" Tisha smiled, obviously pleased with herself. "Not to mention passing the Ordinary level," she added when Snape refused to deign her jibes with an answer.

"We all know Hermione Granger is one of them, but who is the other?" Sprout turned back to them. The woman's ability to participate in several conversations held by other people was truly uncanny.

"I did not include Miss Granger in the survey," Snape finally decided to reply.

"Really," Tisha encouraged.

"I'm afraid she escapes comparisson with her peers."

"Being way more commited to her studies," was Sprout's contribution.

"But really, Severus," Tisha insisted when she checked the Herbology Professor was closely listening to Madam Hooch's story about a first year unable to turn left on a broom. "Two talented students - and I know your expectations are very high - that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

A group of sixth-year Gryffindors came in through the door, led by Romilda Vane. She still wore mascara on her eyelashes, appearing nothing short of ridiculous. She was whispering with her friends and laughing over the shared secret. When she spotted Snape watching them, she hushed the group and attempted to behave more maturely. Patricia Pitty trailed in behind them, head buried in notes. She stashed them away in her bag before taking a seat.

"The number is high enough, although how the rest of them managed to qualify for the class is a mystery," he finally admitted to Tisha. Instead of pressing the matters further, she inspected her dessert minutely.

"Do you like black tart?" She offered him her piece.

"Not in particular." She placed the plate back on the table and checked that Sprout had her back to them.

"So, I suppose since two talented students are a good count for you, there is something else that is wrong with them?"

"Of course. They are both Gryffindors."

"All three of them, Severus. You really shouldn't leave Granger out like that," Sprout lectured.

Tisha pretended to cough to cover up laughing. Snape glanced over at the three culprits: Granger was barely eating, studying an unfamiliar book which was undoubtedly his Dark Arts text in disguise, Weasley was reading a letter, and Pitty was enjoying the dinner. Vane was trying to glare at Tisha.

"You may want to be careful around Romilda Vane, Severus," Minerva said in his ear. She had stopped behind his seat on her way out of the Great Hall. "She seems to be infatuated with you."

Vane was again trying to impress him with her prolongated eyelashes.

"I would have never noticed, Headmistress," Snape replied, turning his eyes over to the Slytherin table.

"Careful, you're dripping irony on the floor." Great, now Sprout's bad habit rubbed off on Tisha.

"My fourth years are doing great with the Blushing Blossoms, are you interested, Severus?"

There was something wrong with the school, Snape decided. He sorely missed the times when the only one interested in talking to him was Albus Dumbledore. And another great thing passed away with the former headmaster: there used to be only one member of the faculty completely off his rocker.

* * *

"Draco!" The blond stopped and turned around. Ginny was on another staircase leading in a slightly different direction when she spotted him. He briefly considered showing off his athletic skills by swinging through between the pillars to stand beside her, but decided against it. The staircase could start moving, and his athletic skills might have proved to be lacking.

He was slightly higher, so he crouched to talk to her eye to eye.

"Hi Ginny."

"I didn't see you at dinner," she said somewhat breathlessly. It was nice to pretend, inside his head, that it wasn't because she had run up the stairs.

"I was visiting Blaise. He says hello, by the way."

"Oh, thanks," she muttered. The lack of enthusiasm didn't escape him. "Would you do me a favour?"

"Certainly," he smiled his best smile. As much as was Draco above _stealing_ his friend's girlfriend, he wasn't above taking an opportunity should one arise. Nothing wrong with being nice and friendly and close in case the crisis between Blaise and Ginny turned out fatal.

"It's more like the twins asked me a favour and I don't think I can pull it off myself," she continued and pulled out a crumpled letter. "Maybe we could talk about it somewhere more private?" she smiled.

Draco swung through the opening between the pillars. Merlin, she was beautiful. No wonder every Gryffindor worth wearing trousers was crazy about her, if she treated them such smiles for small favours. No wonder Blaise switched sides for her.

"Like where?"

No wonder Blaise was desolate that there was something wrong between them.

* * *

Just several minutes later Snape and Tisha mounted the same staircase Draco so recklessly deserted on their way to the Muggle Studies office.

"Maybe you could update the Slytherin requirements to attract more adequate students," Tisha was saying in response to Snape's complaints about his house.

"That is preposterous. Slytherin defined the house traits and the Sorting Hat makes sure his definition is met. I have no hand in the process." He let her walk first through a decorative arc dividing the staircase from a corridor.

"I don't see how a thousand years old definition suits a modern world. The perception of success is changing."

"Really."

"The castle is changing. That doorway wasn't there yesterday," she pointed over her shoulder. "Just a corridor joining a staircase, nothing fancy. Change is the mark of life."

"It's a shame you were never sorted," Snape noted with a glance out of the window. It was cloudy and already dark outside, the window reflecting his own face rather than displaying anything.

"How come?" Tisha turned back from the door.

"You'd make a fine Slythering."

"Oh, thank you." She turned the knob, but hesitated and faced him again. "Provided you're not comparing my intelectual capacity to your current students." She didn't bother pretending to be insulted and finally opened the door.

"Ah!" She backed away into Snape and threw him off balance, so that he too had to take a few steps backwards. Her office was a disaster: her Muggle books haphazardly on the floor, several pieces of clothes wrapped around a chair that hung from the chandelier, pieces of parchment torn and drenched in a pile on her desk, and a terrible smell so thick it hit them with physical force.

"Peeves," Snape uttered unnecessarily. What was wrong with the poltergeist?

* * *

Hidden from the half-giant with an elaborate spell, the wizard in the forest was once again watching the castle. He had followed their progress from the Great Hall, if they had been in the Great Hall for dinner, catching glimpses of the pair through various windows. It was not the first evening he watched them. He was counting steps he couldn't see before they appeared at the next window, unaware of being followed. He had seen Snape's face, as indifferent as ever, gazing out towards the forest. But he couldn't see him. Not even Hagrid could see him, neither his dog could find him here, even though they had walked so close to him he could have reached out and touched them.

But he wasn't here for Hagrid and his mutt.

The pair up in the castle now stood in a close embrace just at the window. As if mocking him. But to mock him, Snape would first have to know about him being here, and that was impossible. He gripped his wand. Casting the spell now, with Hagrid so close, could give him away. He had to wait - wait, but not for long.

His eyes once again gleamed with hatred as he watched the two walk away from the window. The world was all wrong. Absolutely wrong. But he would set it back right. Somehow.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm a little depressed. Twenty-eight chapters and I haven't gotten them to the end of October! And I'm so looking forward to Halloween!


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